


Goodnight & Go

by Knightqueen



Category: Dawn of the Dead (2004), Medium
Genre: 1 Sentence Fiction, Action/Adventure, Challenge Response, Children, Crimes & Criminals, Crossover, Drabble, Drama, F/M, Family, Gen, Romance, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 28,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightqueen/pseuds/Knightqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrinkles in time: Moments in time for the Dubois family. 28 short stories based on the challenge prompts from the Medium Lj, "what she saw", created by memorysdaughter. Kinda Joe-Centric. COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remains of the Day

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, NBC, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

* * *

_**Remains of the Day** _

* * *

**Title: Remains of the Day**

**Summary:**  Joe can't sleep and watches the rain, trying to ignore the ghost sitting next to him. Post  _"Joe Day Afternoon"._

**Prompt:**  1: "Pouring"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K**

**Characters:**  Joe Dubois; Allison Dubois

**Chapters:**  1/28

**Word Count: 3,351+**

**Written:** 5/11/09

**Completed:** 5/15/09

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, NBC, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

* * *

In the dead of night the mind was left vulnerable to a number of things, Joe noticed. Be it the sounds one never noticed until all was silent, or the cold that made itself more prominent during a rainstorm, the mind was left with nothing to distract itself. One thing Joe actually found himself anticipating and dreading at the same time, was waiting for his significant other to wake up from her daily nightmare, ghoulish visions of the future and past. The other was looping one significant moment in his life that should've never happened.

Once upon a time, Joe would've believed that moment was accepting the idea that his wife could speak to the dead and was, perhaps, privy to his most private thoughts, but now he was sure that was nothing compared to watching someone being gunned down right in front of you.

_Or beside you, if you wanted to get technical._  Joe mused to himself. Lying in the bed next to his wife, Joe listened to the rain pound against the windows of his bedroom, the chill of the air seeping through the bedroom door from the hallway caused him to curl further inward on himself. For the first time in fourteen years, his bed felt like a prison, he wanted to do nothing more than spring out of it and run as far as his legs could take him.

Which was undoubtedly out the door of his own house, which also was beginning to feel a might small for him. Stepping out of Aerodytech into the afternoon sunlight, Joe remembered feeling like he'd been thrown into the spotlight in his boxers; All eyes were on him (and Melinda), reporters were primed to ask questions, policemen were keeping them back, rushing past him back into the building, but all he saw he glowing head of blonde hair pushing through security barriers toward him. Joe stood erect in a mixture of grief and regret, he didn't even feel Allison barreling into him, just the initial contact of her arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing what little feeling he had left out of him.

The urge to cry threatened to overwhelm him right then and there, but he kept it together. The police lead them and Melinda away from the entrance of Aerodytech, Allison showered him with hungry kisses, teeth almost biting into his skin when her lips reached his own. Joe reeled from the strength of her affection, confusion growing deeper in his mind. When he finally managed to get away from her kisses, he bent down and hugged her, hiding his face into her shoulder.  _I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I should've listened to you, I should've listened._  Joe swore he was saying this to her, but there was no response from Allison to indicate so.

Pulling back, Allison looked him over with her eyes, her hands cupped his face as though if to keep him from looking away. "Your not hurt?" She said finally. There was stretch of silence between them, as much as Joe wanted to reassure his wife that he was "fine", he didn't have it in him to lie to her right now. "No, I'm not hurt," He replied.  _Not physically, anyway._

After a long transition of dealing with the authorities, giving a statement on the events that occurred inside the building, they were finally allowed to go home. Joe was on auto-pilot, nothing Allison was saying registered to him, regardless, he found himself nodding to the sound of her voice. Ariel, Bridgette, and Marie greeted them upon their entrance, Joe felt momentary joy flood his senses when they embraced.

He wasn't sure how much the girls knew about the situation, he almost wished he could keep it to himself, but that night after a rather awkward dinner, Allison made it a point to convince him otherwise after telling him what Ariel had seen. Reluctantly, Joe explained everything to them, leaving out the more gruesome parts of his harrowing day. Marie looked confused, Ariel was crying and hugging her father, Bridgette just looked confused, as if she didn't quite understand the situation at all. It was one time Joe appreciated her slow uptake.

However, afterward, Joe felt like a mannequin on display. For the first couple of weeks, he found himself meeting the scrutinizing gaze of his eldest daughters eyes, coupled the uncertainty in Marie's. They were jumpy around him, treated him like glass, though they denied doing so. Even Allison seemed to tip-toe around him, throwing the occasional "poor Joe" look in is direction.  _"You poor man,"_  Joe imagined her saying, " _If only you could see what I could see. You should've listened to me."_ It was maddening to say the least and Joe struggled to control his emotions, least he snap right then and there.

Then there was the sleepless nights, Joe sat up in bed long after his family was asleep and watching the tone of the natural light shining through his window change until the sun came up. The second he felt Allison stirring, he feigned sleep sometimes. Other times he left the bed to sit out on the patio, beer in hand. What Allison thought of his behavior didn't factor in anymore. The nightmares of gunshots and blood kept him awake, he didn't want to close his eyes, he would see it.

Every corner of his bedroom reminded him of the stuffy area he spent the an unknown measure of hours in, perspiring more than he ever thought humanly possible, counting the seconds to when the gun would finally be turned on him. At the time, all he could think about was reacting to possibility of his co-worker, Melinda, being hurt. Her and baby; he was literally thinking outside of himself, creating the number of possibilities that could've occurred when Bruce Rossiter aimed the gun in their direction, and how he could keep harm from coming to the mother-to-be.

Then he thought of his own children and immediately his mind screamed, " _Don't do anything stupid!"_  And he didn't, until he picked up the phone. Calmly as he could, he answered the questions of the man over the phone, wondering if Allison had heard about any of this yet. Somewhere down the line he said something that earned a look of disapproval from the disgruntled Aerodytech employee.

In spite of his level-headedness, the relay of the question "They're asking if you've hurt anyone," Ended up being his undoing. Bruce seemed to consider the question, then leveled his gun and fired. For the tiniest second, Joe thought he'd been the one shot. Reacting to the sickening pop of the gun, Joe dropped the phone and pushed away from the table, watching as Aaron fell to the ground, three bullets lodged in his mid section.

Over and over again, Joe's mind looped the exact moment Aaron was hit, watching him drop to the floor like a boneless fish, arms out stretched like he could halt the destination of the bullets. It haunted him in his sleep and whenever he was awake. It got worse when he attended his friend's funeral. Joe couldn't stand watching Aaron's wife bawling over the coffin of her husband while her sister held her child and her friend attempted to lift the woman off the ground. It was, he decided, worse the gun that ended Aaron's life.

Allison allowed him to drive back home, knowing it would distract him momentarily from the  _"Why me?"_  of it all. She didn't try to make small talk, she kept his eyes firmly focused on his stony expression until he flinched and said, "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Allison inquired, bewildered.

"Don't look at me like that. Don't pity me," Joe finally said.

"I'm not  _pitying_  you, Joe. I'm  _worried_  about you. For you," Allison corrected, her tone sharpening.

"Yeah, well don't," He mumbled, turning on the radio.

When they got back to the house, Joe breezed past his children and shut himself in the bathroom. Slowly, he started to undress himself. The ashen face staring back at him in the mirror was not his own, Joe didn't know this man anymore, he wanted him gone. He wanted his old life back. Halfway out of his shirt, it hit him, knocking the air right of his lungs. Joe's shaken resolve crumbled into nothing. He sank to the floor, laying down on his side he failed to hide his sobs with his hand.

_Why me? Why did I live?_

_Why did Aaron have to die?_

_Why Mr. Kravitz?_

_Why Bruce?_

_Why, why, why,_ _**why?** _

It was senseless, it made no sense and for the first time, Joe could find no reasonable logic behind the actions of that day. At some point, Allison found her way into the bathroom. He remembered vividly the absolute look of hurt on her face, even she started to cry; The reason though, eluded him. Finally giving in to the need to be comforted, Joe buried his face into her suit jacket and cried to his heart's content.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Joe regarded his slumbering wife with forlorn eyes. Sighing, he climbed out of the bed and headed down the hall. His footfalls echoed softly on the hardwood floor, causing him to cast a wary glance toward his children's bedroom doors. There was not a peep from them, he continued into the living room.

The ripples of the rain pouring down the patio doors and windows reflected on the walls, creating a sort of dreamy atmosphere inside the living room/kitchen, Joe moved a bit quicker across the cold surface of the tile floor, grabbing hold of the refrigerator handle he opened the door and leaned inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light inside the fridge, his focus came in and out like a camera until he spotted the beer on the bottom shelf. Reaching over Joe snagged two bottles, wincing when they clanked together as he pulled his arm out the refrigerator.

There was a part of him that expected his wife to be standing across from him when he stood up and closed the door, but what he wasn't expecting was the grey old man who would forever maintain a look of mild interest, even in death. "Jeez!" Instinctively, Joe stepped back a few feet, genuinely surprised to find his father observing him with the same judgmental eyes he'd seen just two months before he expired. Mr. Dubois, rolled the cigar in his mouth as he watched his son, amused by his reaction. "Christ, you scared me," Joe breathed, careful to keep his voice down.

"Eh, wouldn't be the first time," Mr. Dubois mumbled, removing the cigar from his mouth. Joe forced a polite smile on his face at the nonchalant response from his father, he hadn't changed at all. He walked past his father over to the couch, Mr. Dubois followed at his own steady pace taking note of his son's shoulder blades sticking out against his undershirt.

Joe flopped down on the couch, raising his legs up off the ground he settled down sideways on the couch, placing the second bottle of beer on the coffee table. He ignored the ever-watchful gaze of his father, focusing all his attention on uncapping his beverage. With a harsh twist, the cap was freed from the grips of the bottle, Joe tossed it aside, he'd pick it up later. Pressing his back up against the cushions behind him, Joe finally met his father's gaze. "So, what brings you here, Dad?" He inquired.

"Jus checking on my boy," Mr. Dubois said. "No law against that is there?"

Joe chuckled against the rim of his beer bottle. "Why so interested now? I wasn't exactly a top priority-"

"Oh,  _please_ , are you really going to play that card?" Mr. Dubois interrupted, annoyed. Joe didn't answer, instead he focused on not looking annoyed for being interrupted. Mr. Dubois moved over to the couch, sitting on the edge of the arm. "Between your mother, and God, I don't need a reminder of my less than stellar record as father-"

"Oh, don't worry, dad," Joe mused, grinning sourly. "You are not the defining factor of my life. I was just making a point."  _Albeit a fruitless one._

"Well, you made it," Mr. Dubois huffed. Joe nodded curtly in satisfaction, finally lowering his beer to his lap. If he could, if his father were still alive, Joe probably wouldn't be too bothered by the fact that dad wasn't around for half of his childhood, now he wasn't so sure. As a child, he assumed to understand the circumstances perfectly and made it a point not to complain about it. He had three sisters and a mother to look after now, he was the man of the house and it was his then-duty to pick up the slack his father created.

As he grew older, the absence of his father became a insignificant memory until he found himself starting into a pair of green-blue eyes at a sports bar & grill. Then suddenly he was worried about how his taste in women would be judged by both his mother and his father, or if dad would make up for lost time between them by visiting his grandchildren. When he failed to meet either expectations, Joe relearned to ignore his absence again. Scratching his head, Joe downed the last of his Budweiser and sat the empty bottle on the table. The issue of mortality faced him again in the form of his father, Joe could vaguely remember crying over that as well (then questioning why). God, he was a mess. "Well, I'm still baffled, pops," Joe grunted. "Why are you here?"

"To be perfectly honest, I don't know myself," Mr. Dubois sighed casually. Joe rolled his eyes and fell back against the couch again. The rain caught his attention for the umpteenth time, despite the memories it dredged up the natural occurrence maintained its calming affect on his body, he could feel his eyes growing heavier the longer he stared at it.

"You oughta get some sleep, my boy," Mr. Dubois' voice broke the serenity of the moment, recalling Joe back to his nightmarish reality. Just how long was he going to hang around? Joe frowned at the idea of sleep, closing his eyes would just leave him more vulnerable than he already was to unpleasant memories. He was scared to sleep, scared to dream. "I'm not tired," Joe mumbled.

"Your no good to those girls, exhausted," Mr. Dubois pressed.

"I'm not talking about this with you-"

"You  _ought_ to talk to that wife of yours."

Joe tossed his father an annoyed look, his self-control teetering on the edge now. "I can't talk to Allison. Not about this," Joe said. Sufficed to say, Mr. Dubois actually reacted like the finality in his offspring's voice bothered him, or maybe his faced itched. Joe was more willing to bet on the latter than the first. His father wasn't an uncaring man, but he wasn't exactly known for his affection either.

After a moment of silence, Mr. Dubois rose from the arm of the chair and situated himself next to his son on the couch, cigar clamped firmly between his teeth. "Why the hell not, Joe?" He inquired. Joe shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable by the sudden proximity between them; Moving away from his father, Joe grabbed the second beer off the table. "She just wouldn't understand," Joe snapped. "She just - she dismisses this kind of stuff all the time, I doubt she'd-" He trailed off.

"Do you hear yourself, Joe?"

" _Yes_ , dad, I can hear myself perfectly. And while you may think me silly, I just don't. Want. To. Talk. About it," Joe empathized on every word, staring his father down with the iciest glare he could muster. And that was how they remained for the longest time, eyes focused on each other, neither one willing to back down from the other. Mr. Dubois sighed inwardly, for the first time he was wishing his son hadn't inherited his stubborn streak. Mr. Dubois was always willing to admit he had a problem to himself, but was extremely hesitant to say so aloud to someone else, and it would seem that Joe suffered from the same quirk. Damn genes.

Leaning back, Mr. Dubois removed the cigar from his mouth and rose from the couch. "Alright, I'm leaving, I won't bother you anymore," He sighed, strolling toward patio door. Joe relaxed visibly, the tension that built up inside of him rolling off him like stream out of an exhaust pipe. He watched as his father gripped the patio's handle then paused, Joe bit down on the inside of his mouth in irritation. "I still stand by what I said-"

" _Dad…_ "

"Just, ask yourself why Allison can dismiss what she sees, what she knows, so easily. The answer's right in front of you," And with that, Mr. Dubois pulled the patio door open and stepped out into the rain.

When Joe opened his eyes, they were sore and wet, the sensation of calloused finger tips running across his face made him aware of reality again. It was morning, the birds were singing, the sun was shining and in the background he could hear the argument of the day between his two eldest daughters.

Hovering above him was Allison, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, framing her face beautifully. Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Joe's vision of his wife adjusted again, her hair considerably shorter, now framing her jaw line. "Hey, handsome," She whispered, smiling. "Good morning."

Joe observed the illuminated room with wary eyes. "Is it?" He asked, disbelieving. Allison's eyes smiled sadly at his question, caressing his face she nodded. "It is. It really is," Allison affirmed. The ghost of a smile graced Joe's features for the tiniest second, the sound of multiple footfalls approaching alerted him to one of many things he'd grapple with today. Raising up from his position on the couch, he pressed chaste kiss on Allison's lips, Allison caught him before he could pull away any further and deepened the kiss. It was her way of confirming her statement, Joe realized, a statement he wanted to believe so badly.

They parted, Allison leaned down and hugged him, keeping him from falling back. "I mean it," She said, her tone stronger than before.

"From your lips," Was all Joe could say. The toppled bottle of beer went unnoticed by the couple, its contents spreading across the hardwood floor.

_I'll be fine. I'll be fine. I'm fine._

* * *

**[END: Drabble 1]**


	2. Big Mistake

**Title: Big Mistake**

**Summary:**  A moment of rebelliousness lands a sixteen-year-old Joe Dubois in trouble with Mrs. Dubois. Teen!Joe. _Pre-series._

**Prompt:**  #2 "Darkness"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K+**

**Characters:**  Joe, Sara, Mara, Amanda, Marjorie, OFC

**Chapters:**  2/28

**Word Count: 4,815**

**Written:** 5/16/09

**Completed: 6/6/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, NBC, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

* * *

At the ripe age of sixteen and half years, Joe Dubois liked to believe he was ahead of the curve when it came to maturity, at least when compared to his sisters. He didn't drink, he wasn't having sex with his fellow female peers ( _yet_ ), and he wasn't playing hooky from school. He also helped out around the house and did all his chores. Joe was, by definition, a model student and son.

His mother, however, was intent on reminding him that kind thinking like that would land him in serious trouble.

He was still capable of making every mistake any other teenager did and learning something from it. "I hope," Marjorie added as an afterthought. Joe paid her little mind at the time, he was too absorbed in H.G. Welles'  _The Time Machine._  Whenever his mother was intent on treating him like a child, he made a point of telling her, "I'm sixteen years, old! I'm not a baby."

"Well, your acting like one right now, Joseph," His mother remarked, never taking her attention off whatever captured it at the time. "I don't feel comfortable leaving the four of you in the house alone, so I'm calling the baby-sister. Is that clear?" Joe would make a non-committal grunt and storm out of the room, his sisters teasing him all the way down the hallway. They lived in the what could only be described as the nicest part of town, what was she afraid of? Why was he the only person in among his siblings feeling chafed by their mother's restraining authority? Amanda, just a year younger than him and a hundred times more likely to disobey (next to Sara), seemed content in following the lifestyle she left under the guide of their mother, rarely complaining when their mother wouldn't allow her to do something. "Its for the best, I'm sure," She said to him once. "When did you become so level headed?" He remembered snapping. Amanda opted to ignore him, however, and he was left without a understanding. In the silence of his bedroom, Joe would remind himself that there was only two years left before he finally leave the house and do what he wanted.

"Just two years," He mumbled into the darkness, watching the miniature solar system above his bed spinning idly in a circle. He appreciated that his mother was trying to maintain the memory of her "baby", really, but there was a time when all men needed to break free of their parent's (or in this case, parent) restricting grasp. Joe considered this to be his moment of independence.

Currently, though, Joe was busy cleaning his telescope for fifth time that week, occasionally taking a peek into it. In the background, the Rolling Stones'  _"Gimme Shelter"_  played softly on his radio, his bed was covered by various cassette's that he spent a good half hour toiling over before he finally grabbed  _Let it Bleed_. Enshrouded in darkness, Joe stared up at the heavens above, attempting to adjust his own eyesight as he fixed the telescope on cloudless sky. The streetlights made it near-impossible to see anything beyond the glowing halo that seemed to follow his line of sight everywhere.

Blinking his eye, Joe strained to see the object in his sights, barely making out the outline of it and confirming it to be the star he'd seen earlier that week in the park. Staying out that late got him grounded for a week, but it was worth it. Pulling away from the telescope, Joe reached up to message the skin around his throbbing eye. His fingers brushed lightly across his skin catching the pulse under his eye, pressing down he moved his fingers in a circular motion.

Moving away from the window, Joe proceeded over to his bed for a rest. Pushing the cassette tape's away from corner of the bed, he flopped down without regard to the plastic cases piled next to him. As a result, a dozen or so tapes went tumbling over the edge onto the floor.  _I'll pick them up later,_ he thought. Normally, eyestrain was hardly a bothersome thing for Joe, he'd acknowledge it and go about his day after draping a cold washcloth over his face.

Lately, however, his near daily strain of his eyes developed into a sinus like irritation and would take hours to fade, even after washcloth therapy. He was starting to think taking a break from the telescope would be a good idea. Dragging his hand down and away from his face, Joe prepared to go to sleep when the phone next to him started to ring. Alert, Joe sat upright, throwing his legs back over the edge of the mattress. He waited through three rings for his mother to pick the downstairs phone, when she didn't he grabbed the phone up off the cradle and pressed the cool plastic against his ear. "Hello?" He breathed.

" _Hi, Joe,"_  The voice, so unfamiliar, greeted him. Joe's brow furrowed in confusion, though he picked up the phone he hadn't expected anyone to be calling for him. Most of the time his mother's stodgy old friends from work called, wondering when she would be over for the next "sister's meeting". On occasion his friends, would call him up. This person was far too young to be a friend of his mother and she was certainly was no one he knew. "Um, H-hello," Joe started, "May I ask who's calling?"

" _It's Anna. Anna Wally,"_  The girl said.  _"I'm in your biology class?"_  That had Joe sitting upright and wide-eyed.  _Holy shit!_  Anna Wally,  _the_  Anna Wally had called him! Unconsciously, he pushed his sandy brown locks out his face and straightened his shirt. Anna Wally wasn't one who could describe as the hottest chick in school, but she was far from "average" or lame. There was something about her personality that just drew people to her, Joe liked to think it was hair; Long, brunette hair, that stopped past her perfectly rounded breasts, that seemed to glow in the sunlight at all the right moments, perfect for breezes when they drifted by.

Pulling himself out his fantasy long enough to clear his throat, Joe did his best to feign surprise. "Oh! Anna! Hi, Anna," He proclaimed, laughing nervously.

" _Yeah, hi,"_  Anna replied. Joe could imagine her shifting position on her stomach while she laid on the bed, phone cord twirled around her fingers. God she was so cute.  _"How are you?"_

"Who me? I'm- I'm great! I'm good, thanks for asking," Joe rambled. "How about you?"

" _Me? I'm great too, thanks for asking,"_  Anna laughed. " _Listen, I know its weird for me to be calling-"_

_More like a dream come true,_  Joe thought happily.

" _-We really don't know each other all that well, but, if your not busy would you like to go out with me on Friday? To Parker's house party?"_  Anna finished. Joe felt his mouth grow dry in that moment while his mind ran wild with fantasies of holding hands with Anna in school, through the park, and doing the clichéd thing like kissing under the bleachers. It all stopped though when her voice rattled in his ears like a dull roar through a PVC pipe.  _"Joe? Joe, are you still there?"_  She asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm still here," Joe replied, rising up from the bed. "Sorry, I just… I kinda spaced out there for a sec."

" _Yeah, your probably thinking 'why is she calling me? I don't even know her', am I right?"_

"Your not far off. Not that I'm opposed to random calls from pretty girls, mind you," Joe felt the words roll from his mouth before he had a chance to stop them. Groaning, he hid his face in the palm of his hand. How did he allow that to come out of his mouth? There was a laugh on the end of the line, Joe could feel the heat creeping up around his collar and choking him. Now he was really embarrassed, Anna was laughing at him.

" _You think I'm pretty?"_  Anna inquired, the smile obvious in her voice. Joe fumbled for words that wouldn't sound monumentally stupid, not sure how to respond to the question. "I, uh… yes, I think your very pretty," He decided to say. There was a laugh from Anna, a laugh that which either meant she was either flattered or embarrassed by his somewhat upfront confession. He hoped it was the first and not the latter.  _"Wow, thanks,"_  She said. Joe just shrugged his shoulders, compliments were his specialty, he supposed he had his appearance-conscious mother and sisters to thank for that.

" _So, how about it?"_  Anna asked after a moment. Joe's face maintained the look of mock-innocence on his face, even when he was aware that Anna couldn't see it. "How about what?" He said, feigning oblivion.

" _Will you go out me on Friday?"_

The million dollar question.

* * *

"Mom is going to  _kill_  you, when she finds about this," Sara hissed through her teeth as she watched her brother scale the side of their house. "Amada will too!" Joe shot his second youngest sister the deadliest glare he muster without losing his focus, he could feel the strain his ankles trying to keep his weight from pulling him down before he could reach a safe distance to even jump.

Amada catching him in the act was the least his worries, he had plenty on her that she'd keep her mouth shut. Sara on the other hand, was a different story. No matter what they threatened her with, Sarah made sure one of her siblings would get in trouble when they were doing something they weren't supposed to.

Four days ago, Joe would've never imagined himself doing something life this. After getting off the phone with Anna, Joe made it business to ask his mother if it was okay to go out with her on Friday. Immediately, Marjorie's attention was away from the TV and completely on her son. He dreaded it, but the first words out of her mouth were, "Who's this Anna girl?" And he explained in the greatest detail, who exactly Anna Wally was, empathizing heavily on every positive point he could think of. "She's really nice, Mom. You would like her. Her mom, she's says she's apart of that "sister's thingy" your always going to." Immediately he noticed her right eye twitch at the butchering of her club's name. Marjorie, for the most part looked uninterested, but Joe really knew she was thinking. "Where's this party?"

"Um, at Parker's house?" He answered, uncertain.

"Does this Parker have a last name?"

"Um- that is his last name. As far as I know, the Parker Anna was referring to was, Marcus Parker,"

Marjorie's hand messaged her collar bone, as though she were preparing to swallow something unpleasant. "Do I know him either?" Marjorie asked, eyebrow now hidden behind her bangs. Joe shook his head, he didn't even know Marcus that well either. Not beyond his reputation on the football field in his school anyway. There was a pregnant pause, Joe felt his face growing prematurely hot in the silence before his mother rose from the couch, strolling casually into the kitchen. He watched her placed her goblet into the sink then turn to face him. "I'll have to think about it," She said finally.

"By thinking about it, you really mean, "no", right?" Asked her son.

"Well, Joe, I don't even know these children. Is this party even allowed by Parker's parents, did you bother to ask?"

"No, not really. I wanted to ask you if I could go out with her first before I did anything else," He said, by way of explanation. "Its not like I wouldn't have  _not_  asked. I would've. Besides, does it matter? I'm old enough to do things like this, aren't I?"

"Yes, it does matter; I can't very well, in good conscience allow my child go out someplace with people I don't know," Marjorie said. "You'll be old enough do what you want when your eighteen,  _twenty_  at best. So, yes, the answer is  _no_."

"Even if I ask if the party was being thrown with permission?" Joe cried. Marjorie said nothing. "Isn't that a little extreme?"

"Not by my standard's, no," She replied.

"But that's not fair!" He blurted, not really meaning to.

"This is not up for discussion, Joseph. My decision is final."

There was a part of Joe that wanted to argue with his mother on an already moot point, but settled for glaring daggers into her forehead for the remainder of the week. At school he avoided Anna whenever he could, and spent most his time indulging the aghast his friends, Jordan and Scotty, who were definitely going to the party. However, on the day of reckoning, Joe found himself cornered by his locker by none other than Anna herself. "So, I never heard back from you," She said. "Are you coming with me or not?"

Joe shrugged his shoulders, suddenly conflicted; He wanted to go with Anna so badly, but the niggling in the back of his mind kept from answering immediately. His mother would have a aneurism if she found he went after saying he couldn't- Anna interrupted his line of thought with a soft laugh, Joe's gaze focused in time to catch her slap her his shoulder in that good natured manner. He stumbled slightly, surprised by the strength behind her hand. "Come on, its not a big deal. If you don't wanna go-"

"No, I'll be there," He interjected, a firm nod his head.

To say that Anna looked surprised was an understatement. " _Seriously?_ "

"You will definitely see me at that party. Count on it," Joe couldn't believe the confidence in his own voice. Anna smiled and it was like the hallway became even brighter, fiddling nervously with the ends of her hair, Anna pulled in and pressed a her lips against the young man's face. "Radical. See you tonight," And with that she hurried down the hallway. Joe commuted to his first class with his backpack in front of him. When he got home, he played the fool, deceiving his mother when he told her that he was going over to Scotty's for a round of video games.

Climbing down the side of the house via the ivy-fence was probably the stupidest escape he ever had, but he had no intentions of breaking is "promise" to Anna. Sara leaned further out of his bedroom window, breathing a short sigh of relief when he made it safely to the ground. "Joe, get back up here," She whispered as loudly as she could. " _Please?_ " Joe shot his little sister another look as he stepped backward quickly across the lawn, if she wasn't quiet she was going to give him away. "Go back inside, Sara! If you say a word about any of this, you will get  _nothing_  for your birthday," He said.

Sara stiffened. " _You wouldn't!_ "

Joe didn't answer, grabbing his bike up off the ground he walked it out into the street and proceeded to hope on. Pedaling as fast as he could, Joe sped off into the darkness, his destination clear in his head. Sarah watched him go, unable to help the disappointed shake of her head.

* * *

Aside from Anna, Marcus' party, being thrown without the say-so of his parents after all, was not what he expected it to be. Instead of some rowdy party with random guests falling from the second floor stairs, the party was rather tame. The crowd was spread about the house, talking or bouncing around the room to the music pumping out of the boom box in the center of the living room. Jordan and Scotty were busy chatting up a couple of girls from their school, who pretended to look interested in to their poor attempts to woo them.

Most people crowded the stairs and the kitchen, as if these were the places to be. Anna led him around the room by the hand, filling him in on all he'd missed since the party began. She looked a lot different than she usually did. Instead of natural beauty, she'd dolled herself a bit. Eye shadow accented her eyelids and her thin lips were brought to attention by ruby red lipstick.

She wore a simple black turtleneck and a pair of fitting jeans and hair was free to cascade over her back and shoulders. "…Should've seen it, it was so gross. Connor just projectile vomited all over Karen," She said, voicing coming back in from the foreground. Glancing away from the buffet table, Joe nodded his head with enthusiasm. "That does sound gross," He said, forcing a laugh. Anna nodded her head, grinning all the while. Joe shook himself out of his stupor long enough to realize he'd been lead out of the house. "Where are we going?" Joe asked.

"You'll see," She laughed, tugging harder on his arm when he started to fall too far behind. Joe picked his feet up and followed her across the massive lawn, the house falling further behind them. Despite the light that was provided by the buildings in the neighborhood, Joe had a hard time to keep from tripping over his own feet, while Anna seemed to walk on without any trouble. They arrived at their destination five minutes later, Joe found himself staring out into the night, noticing for the first time the sound of crickets.

"Finally alone," Anna sighed sitting down on the grass.  _Not so alone,_  Joe thought casting a wary glance over at the house just ways from them. "Well, come on, sit down," She said patting the grass beside her. Joe did as he was told, awkwardly crossing his legs Indian-style as he did so. His elbows rested lightly on his knees, his fingers started to intertwine with each other when Anna's slender fingers intercepted his. Ignoring the slightly uncomfortable/amused expression on his face, Anna leaned back. "Whadya wanna do when you graduate from high school, Joe?" She asked.

"Uh, I dunno exactly. Maybe become a professor at a fancy university, maybe go into space," Joe replied.

"Space? As in  _outer space?"_  Anna laughed, propping herself up on her elbows. "Like, a astronaut or something?"

"Yeah," Joe answered, no shame in his voice. Turning to face her he chuckled and added, "Like a astronaut or something."

Anna seemed to ponder his words before shrugging. "Cool, I guess," She sighed. "Guess what I wanna do?" The eagerness her voice did not go unnoticed, the memory of his youngest sister, Mara, pestering him flashed through his mind and unconsciously he rolled his eyes. The motion, however, was not seen by Anna given that his back was facing her. Scooting across the grass, Joe proceeded to lower himself to the ground and focused on the sky above him. In the absence of light, he felt completely surrounded by the world above him, if he reached with his hand up he could snatch a star right out of the sky. After a moment he turned to face the profile of Anna. "I dunno, what do you wanna do?" He inquired, as though he were humoring a small child.

Anna shrugged her shoulders lazily, a coy smile playing on her face. "Well, if you must know, I'm hoping to become a doctor one day. I'm going to try and apply to WSU," She explained enthusiastically.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," She laughed. "I've always wanted to help people. My dad was a doctor, my mom is veritable humanitarian, so it would feel wrong not to join the ranks of the Justice League." Joe grinned at her description, eyes inadvertently shifting back up the sky. Beside him he felt Anna move across the grass closer to him. Turning his head slightly to the left, he studied the outline of Anna's face with wary eyes. Anna tucked her hair behind her ears and proceeded to fiddle with the collar his shirt. "I know this is gonna sound crazy, but… do you wanna, maybe, make out?"

* * *

The party was a quarter way into becoming a dead man's gathering (just about everyone was slumped over, too inebriated to do much of anything) when Joe pulled himself away from Anna to retrieve his bike. Regretfully, he told her he had to get back home before his mother suspected his absence (if his sister hadn't already told her). Anna was surprisingly reasonable about it, smiling all while fiddling with his shirt again.

"Thanks for coming, I had a great time," She said, following him down the driveway.

"I'm glad I came too. Your welcome," He answered. "Oh, hey, if you can, you should come over sometime. I have this great telescope, you can see just about anything in the sky, its amazing." Anna giggled at his enthusiasm, pulling her sleeves over her hands she gave him a half-shrug. Leaning forward, she kissed him square on the lips, a kiss Joe was more than happy to return. He allowed her lips to linger for a moment before pulling away.  _Tastes like crayon,_  he thought himself."I'll definitely put into consideration," she said, after a moment. That's all Joe needed to hear before allowing himself to leave.

Besides the scattered sounds of cars coming down the road, the ride home was a silent one. Joe could hear himself counting the seconds to midnight, the time his mother usually came in to check on him. Pedaling quicker, Joe made his way up the sidewalk with little difficulty, taking quick glances at the street signs to make sure he was on the correct path to home. When he arrived, the first thing he noticed were the living room lights. They weren't on, this gave him pause. His bike traveled freely down the street toward his house when he stopped pedaling. Swallowing against his nervousness, Joe rolled up into the driveway. Quietly as he could, he pushed his bike into garage and locked it on the paint shelf.

Satisfied that he bike was safe for now, Joe started to make his way out of the garage. Moving quick and low across the lawn, Joe hurried up the walkway, fingers fumbling with his keys. The lights being could mean a number of things, but Joe decided to fear the worse. Inserting the key into the hole, he turned the key slowly, listening to the mechanism unlock and the bolt pull away from the groove on the side of the door frame, it might as well have been a death rattle.

The door gave a small squeak when he opened it halfway, swallowing against the dry spot that had been growing in the back of his throat, Joe slipped inside the house like a cat. Avoiding the table lamp beside him, he closed the door just as quietly. The silence of the house brought a disarming sort of calm that he wasn't aware that he missed until now.  _That was easier than I expected_ , he thought ruefully. Joe shoved his keys into his pocket and proceeded toward the stairs, the sooner he got to bed the sooner he cold put this all behind-

"Did you have fun at Anna's party?"

_**Marcus'**_ _party,_  Joe heard himself think before registering what had just occurred. The voice brought Joe and the silence to a startling halt, almost immediately he felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach twist and his heart start to race. It was enough to make a man hurl right then and there if it weren't the possible punishment that would follow in the wake of ruining a pristine carpet. Light flooded the room, he flinched and closed his eyes.

Slowly he reopened them, allowing his eyes to get used to the harsh and unnatural light. To his dismay, Marjorie was sitting across from him on the couch, legs crossed, wearing, quite easily, the stoniest expression he'd ever seen on his mother's otherwise soft features. Joe had not the heart to say anything, he was sure he'd sound one octave too high for his liking. Marjorie, however, had no intentions of keeping silent. Uncrossing her legs, Joe's mother approached her rigid son with purpose. Joe felt his Adams apple bob uncomfortably at her proximity, unconsciously he averted his gaze. "Well, did you?" She asked, her voice rising.

"Yes, ma'am," Joe answered. Guiltily he glanced up at his mother through his shaggy hair, Marjorie's expression was a stony as ever, the only thing that was moving was her twitching right eye.

"Good, because as it stands that's probably all the fun you'll experience for a long time,"

Silently Joe raised his head, the alarm was written in every muscle on his face. The thought of being trapped inside some specially made prison made for disobedient boys like him, crossed his mind and suddenly, he felt six years old again. "What do you mean?" He inquired, his tone sharper than he intended it to be.

"Your grounded, Joe," She said. "No television, no music, no comics, and no telescope-"

"What-?"

"-For as long as I see fit to keep them from you," Marjorie finished. "And don't tell me it's not fair-"

"Well, its not! None of this would've happened if you just let me go in the first place!" Joe shock back, his voice louder than he intended it to be.

"No, one of this would've happened if you'd just listened-"

"You treat me like a child-"

"Because you are a child!" She roared, startling her son. "This stunt you just pulled, proved that much. You have done nothing to prove otherwise!" Marjorie's already angry expression became angrier, Joe gulped nervously. Mrs. Dubois bit the inside of her mouth, her rosy complexion reddening by the second as she struggled to reign her temper back in. "…Go upstairs. I don't want see you until breakfast," She managed to say, voice straining.

When he didn't move, Marjorie grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt and pushed him up the stairs, he stumbled, surprised by the maneuver she just used on him.  _"Now, Joe,"_  She hissed. Joe did as he was told, his legs trembled as he climbed the stairs, he shot one last simmering look at his mother through his bang, then proceeded up to his bedroom. The faint whispers inside his Amanda's bedroom were loud in his head, Joe could tell they were talking about him as they quieted down the moment he passed her door. The sound of footfalls fast approaching the door caused him to pause, the door flung open and Sara's head appeared. "I didn't tell!" She exclaimed quietly, eyes pleading for mercy.

Joe blinked. "Shut up, Sara," He muttered, proceeding down the hall. Sarah watched him, bewildered by his reaction. Did he think she was lying? As she ducked back into the room, Joe's heart continued to race while every muscle in his face twitched, the place where his mother had grabbed him throbbed with a unhealthy mixture of embarrassment and rage, the moment looping over and over in his head.

His bedroom was devoid of all things held sacred to him. The telescope and radio, the shelf where he kept his tapes and his comic book box were missing and laid barren. Joe's anger only increased. His bedroom felt completely alien without these things in them. Slamming and locking his door, Joe marched over to his bed and flopped down on the edge. Pulling his shirt off, Joe examined his string-bean figure in the mirror. His chest was peppered with hickey's where Anna had decided to experiment in suckling, but not even the sight of them made him feel any better.

He really hated his mother.

* * *

**[End Prompt 2]**


	3. Come Tomorrow

**Title: Come Tomorrow**

**Summary:**  Allison doesn't know how to communicate with her mother. _Pre-series._

**Prompt:**  3: "Defeat"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K**

**Characters:**  Allison, Ms. Rolen, Joe

**Chapters:**  3/28

**Word Count: 816**

**Written:** 6/6/09

**Completed:**  6/22/09

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  I ended up watching this movie  _Somersault_  and got the inspiration to rewrite this (I dunno what its about broodish movies that kick-start my muse). For some reason, Allison and her mother was something of a toughie to tackle. Originally, this was meant to be a Teen!Allison tale, but I had a hard time balancing Mrs. Rolen's irritation towards Allison's talk of "dreams" and her affections toward her daughter despite that. That said, I'm making it a point to re-watch the series (or just "The Boy Next Door") again. I'm feelin' rusty again.

* * *

Allison observed the sunlight peeking through the clouds of the gray afternoon, the call of the wind tugging hard against her suit which stuck out against the white that surrounded her. Her eyes, swollen from crying, caught the stray strands of blonde hair with its eyelashes, blurring her vision even more.

Communication was something Allison like to think she was a expert at (its general concept anyway). Everyone was so eager to listen to everything she had to say, even when she wanted nothing to do with them. They followed her, writing messages on anything they could touch or manipulate.

Sometimes she would respond and seek out their families or significant others, but made no direct contact with them. A note was all that usually needed and they would be gone the next day. Then there were times when people just showed up to ridicule and taunt her, just because of what she could do.

One particularly memory that seemed stuck in her mind was the time Joe had inexplicably written "burn in hell, devil woman" on his laptop, just seconds after she chased away a enraged priest off their front lawn. That scared her; Hell, it scared him and he was only just becoming used to the idea of her gift. They spent the rest of the morning looking up "conduits" until it was time to pick the girls up from school.

However, when it came to solid interaction with living, breathing people, her communication skills were rusty at best. She was by no means, a timid, or shy person (not really), but when they - Joe's friends, usually - started with questions about her career path, something she didn't have at the moment, or simple day to day events or things she never bothered to keep up with outside the news, Allison felt inept.

A smile or a shrug accompanied by a question or brief response usually got her off the hook, but it was the strange looks she got afterward that irritated her. It was bad enough the dead looked at her like that when she ignored them, did the living have to do it as well? At the end of the day Allison was glad to be back home with her children, they were more than enough social life for her. In spite of his confusion, Joe would apologize for throwing her into "the deep end" in his attempts to get her to become more social. Allison would just nod understandingly before rolling onto her side of the bed.

So the one time, the very  _one time_ , Allison actually found herself wanting to willingly respond and engage with someone, she found herself ignored. Allison stood there, alone in the middle of the graveyard watching as the woman observed the writing cared in the white gravestone with a bewildered expression. Her face was marked with the trail of tears long since dried, she paced back and forth like a caged animal, occasionally shifting her gaze to Allison.

It was then when Allison attempted a disarming smile. "Come on, why don't we get out of here?" Allison raised her voice over the howl of the wind. "I'll get us some coffee and we can talk."

The woman finally stopped pacing and regarded Allison with the saddest pair eyes she'd ever seen. Allison wanted to do nothing except hug her right then and reassure her like she used to when she was a child. "I don't want to," She croaked. "I can't leave."

"Mom, please-"

"Leave me alone, Allison," Mrs. Rolen snapped, stepping away from her headstone. Allison watched her stumble through the graveyard like the aimless spirit she was. Defeated, Allison Dubois retreated across the yard toward the station wagon where Joe waited for her, puzzled by the moment that just unfolded before him.

* * *

**[End Prompt 3]**


	4. Did you have that dream again?

**Title: Did you have that dream again?**

**Summary:** Joe's perchance for horror movies disturbs Allison's otherwise dreamless sleep. Crossover with  _Dawn of the Dead (2004)_.

**Prompt:**  4: "Sunset"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **T**

**Characters:**  Allison Dubois, Michael, Joe Dubois

**Chapters:**  4/28

**Word Count: 1,446**

**Written:**  6/30th/09

**Completed:**  10/4/09

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.  _Dawn of the dead_  and all things related are property of Paramount Pictures, George A. Romero and Zack Snyder.

**Authors Note:**  Technically, this was the first idea that sprang to mind for a DOTD/Medium crossover, yet, somehow  _"Foresight"_  (found in the crossovers section for  _Dawn of the Dead_ ) ended up being written and completed first. Inspiration comes from a nightmare, the title is a lyric from "O.R.T." from  _Silent Hill Origins,_  which I recommend you listen to when reading this.

* * *

Allison hadn't grown accustomed the moaning yet. She could imagine those things crowding around each other, wandering about aimlessly as they growled and wailed at anything that touched them. Her eyes wandered around the smooth ceiling above her while Marie slept peacefully next to her, curled in a ball underneath the covers. She wasn't quite sure how or why she was here. There was memory, but it was far out of her reach, buried by sadness and grief.

Slowly, Allison unwrapped her arm from around her daughter and slid from off the mattress. Her bare feet recoiled slightly from the cool hardwood floor, Allison could only wonder how the floor maintained such a temperature in the middle of a blistering summer. Moving around the bed, Allison proceeded out of the mock living quarters out into the wide walk space of the mall.

It was strange being inside a mall after closing hours, technically, it was the living example of places you didn't want to be in when all became dark. Every shadow, heightened by the setting sun, looked ready to crawl out of its hiding space and eat you alive, but only if you let your imagination to get the better of you. Considering their situation, Allison felt she was allowed to be a tad paranoid. Moving through the dark, Allison made a b-line for the rooftop door, which she noticed was slightly ajar.

Pushing the door open, she paused for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to dim light above and her ears grow accustomed to the moaning above, which had grown louder for some reason. Allison proceeded cautiously up the stairs, hand sliding along the baluster as she ascended.

The need to run increased the closer she got to the rooftop entrance, swallowing her fear, Allison grabbed the edge of the door and peered through the crack. The first thing she noticed was the skyline; the emerging stars were shining amidst the blacker-than-night smoke that continued to rise into the sky like a omen. The second thing she noticed was the outline of a human body standing idly by the edge of the roof, seemingly unaffected by the ravenous cries below.

Sliding through the open door, Allison regarded the open space of the rooftop with suspicion, the thought of one of those things managing to find their way up onto the roof wasn't feeling like such a silly idea at the moment. Her slippers protected the soles of her feet from the sweltering surface of pebbles scattered across the roof, tucking her hair behind her ears, Allison dared to break the silence. "H-hello?" It was all she could think to say, at least if it was one of them they wouldn't bother to inquire why she attempted to talk, it would just rip her throat out.

Her fears were assuaged when the man turned to regard her. Allison breathed a sign of relief when she saw who it was. Michael smiled slightly when he saw her, gesturing towards himself with a awkward turn of his shoulder. Allison approached without hesitation, relieved to finally see a friendly face again. She watched him raise his arm and how she made herself comfortable against his side like it was second nature. "What are you doin' up here?" Michael asked, rubbing her arm in a comforting manner.

Allison smiled uneasily. "I could ask you the same thing." She paused, surveying the orange sunset with curiosity. Looking back to Michael, she continued. "I was just, wondering where everybody went. It gets lonely down there by yourself." There was a noncommittal grunt from Michael, of course he knew what she meant; despite being momentarily protected inside the fortified mall, the fear of one of those things getting inside was always present for them, especially for her. She had a daughter to look after.

"I was just watching the sunset," Michael mused, nostalgia thick in his voice. "The others are downstairs working on the buses. We should be outta here in no time." Allison nodded against his side, in taking the smell of the old spice deodorant he was wearing. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed a chaste kiss to his side through his shirt. She felt him flinch against her, obviously not expecting the public display of affection. " _Allison…_ "

"That sound… it doesn't bother you?" Allison interjected. Michael paused. For the first time since he got up on the roof, he actually bothered to listen to the hungry moans below. He'd grown used to the sound to be honest; The first week in the mall, he couldn't stand it, he'd lost so much (or so little) so fast, that the mere thought that his family could be stuck out in the hellish world frightened him to no end. It still did, but after awhile, the moaning become background noise, especially after the others initiated their version of  _Hollywood Squares_.

"Sometimes. Not really," He answered briefly, pulling away from her. Allison hugged herself, nodding. She watches Michael scratch the back of his neck, he always scratched when he was nervous. Michael makes her nervous, ever since she stepped foot inside the Crossroads Mall, Allison's had to reframe from calling him by the wrong name.

"What about you? The moans, do they bother you at all?" Michael asked, looking up from the ground.

"Yes," Allison's eyes were downcast, almost ashamed to admit it. The light of the sun was fading, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "I miss them, I miss them so much." This time she let her tears fall, there was no one to hide them from. Michael's arms were suddenly around her upper body, his cheek pressed against the top of her head while she buried her face in his chest. They were same height, she noted and it only seemed to make her cry harder. She could hear Michael whispering false reassurances, telling her it wasn't her fault they'd been killed. "There nothing you could've done," said.

But it was.

It always was.

* * *

Allison woke up a start, biting back a sob as relief already started to register in her system. She was back in the living room, unfocused eyes directed towards the TV. Beside her, she could hear Joe chewing loudly on something. Through the blur of sleep, she could faintly make out the outline two vehicles speeding through a blue city. Scrubbing her face with one hand, Allison reached out with the other and snatched the idle remote off the couch; With a press of a button the light of the TV died.  _"Hey!"_  The loud chewing stopped, she looked from behind her hand in time to catch Joe's annoyed look. "I was watching that, they just got out the mall," He whined.

"Well, I was sleeping!" Allison rebuked, tossing the cover away from her legs. "I told you not to watch those movies when I was sleeping. I have weird dreams."

"Did you just hear yourself? I remember no such thing," He protested, swallowing his popcorn. Allison started to climb across him, Joe was quick to move the bowl of popcorn from his lap and raise it over his head. Once she placed her feet on the floor he placed the bowl back onto his lap. "Well, I did," Allison yawned, ignoring his comment.

"Did you get eaten by zombies?" Joe joked, sitting the bowl aside. Allison snatched the pillow from behind him and prepared to attack him.

* * *

**[End Prompt 4]**


	5. Self Appointed Guardian

**Title: Self Appointed Guardian**

**Summary:** During an unannounced visit, Mr. Dubois reminisces with Allison while he watches his son interact with his daughters. Set a couple weeks after  _"Still Life"_.

**Prompt:**  5: "Time"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K**

**Characters:**  Mr. Dubois, Allison Dubois; Joe; Marie; Bridgette; Ariel

**Chapters:**  5/28

**Word Count: 1040**

**Written: 10/4/09**

**Completed: 10/4/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  I've been practicing on trying to write stories under 1,000 words, but it's a pesky game of trial and error for me at the moment, trying to convey all that I'm thinking into a confined space (at least I think to think it of as confined).

* * *

"I'll get it!" Allison pulls away from the game of twister, causing Joe to trip. He falls on his stomach, spread out like a wounded albatross, Marie who sits atop his back is unaffected by the sudden loss in support and giggles as she rolls off of him. "Allison!" He groans while Bridgette and Ariel laugh him.

"You loose daddy," Bridgette declares.

Allison is halfway into the bedroom when she hears Joe call her name, mentally she apologizes for making him lose the game, but her attention is completely focused on getting to the phone before it stops ringing. Clambering across the bed, Allison snatches the phone off her bedside table and hit's the talk button. "Hello? …Oh, good afternoon sir," Its Devalos. He's called to update her on the Winchester case; Colin Winchester, suspected of killing his younger brother's, Alex, girlfriend had a airtight alibi for Thursday, the day of the girls' demise in May, two weeks ago.

The irony of it all, is that Alex was representing his brother's case, absolutely no doubt in his mind that his elder brother was innocent. Allison was inclined to agree with the younger brother; despite the dodgy appearance of Colin, Allison couldn't sense a malevolent bone in his body. Every dream she had might've shown him leaving Annie's house, but she was always alive, unharmed, no sign of danger. Manuel, begged to differ, however. "No… I think I can be there in a hour," She said, glancing at the clock. "Yes, sir, I'll see you then."

Allison hung up the phone, ready to leave the bedroom when she saw him sitting on Joe's side, cigar where it usually was in his mouth. She did nothing to hide the annoyance she felt at the mere sight of him. "What are you doing here now?" Allison groused, climbing off the bed on her side.

"Just watching my boy," Mr. Dubois sighed.

"You could do that from anywhere, go away!" Allison stormed out of the bedroom, ready to put the entire moment behind her. However, when Allison reentered the living room she found Mr. Dubois sitting on the couch, arms stretched out on the top, while Joe and girls were situated at the table for a game of Monopoly.

Allison approaches the table, a small smile on her face. "Hey, what happened to Twister? I didn't even get to beat the girls," She asked.

"What, beating me wasn't enough?" Joe inquired, laughter light in his tone. Allison slapped her husband lightly on the back of the head as she took her place behind him. Marie garbled something as she readjusted herself on her father's lap, squished between him and the table. Marie's chubby little fingers tossed the dice across the board, Bridgette and Ariel watched intently as the die rolled across the cardboard. She rolled a six. "I win!" She declared.

"Uh-uh, Marie, you rolled doubles three times. You have go to jail!" Bridgette corrected, picking her sister's piece up and slamming it down on the jail space. "No fair," Marie mumbled, pouting. Reaching over, she tugged on daddy's sleeve. "Daddy?"

"Sorry munchkin, those are the rules," Joe said. Marie gave a huff, falling back against her father. "My turn!" Ariel announced, grabbing up the dice. All but forgotten, Allison moves away from the table and joins Mr. Dubois on the couch. The old man gives her something of an amused look then focuses his attention back on his son and granddaughters. "He used to be terrible at board games," He sighed.

Allison sat up a little more. "Pardon? Who used to be bad board games?" She repeated, careful to keep her voice low.

"Joe. He used to be terrible at 'em," Mr. Dubois clarified.

"Is that so?"

"Yep. His sisters, his mother, they all used to beat him everytime," He explained. "Sara went as far as playing cards blindfolded."

"Did she win?"

"Nope, he got lucky that time, she kept cheating," Mr. Dubois said. "The boy has an eye for cheaters."

Allison nodded slowly, smile on her face as she titled her head back and regarded her husband. She wouldn't be to tell Joe was good or bad at board or card games just by looking at him. Well, maybe she could, but nothing like that ever cropped up into her brain whenever she picked up on something. Little snippets of life in Gross Pointe with his mother and sisters, his freshman and sophomore years college, other miscellaneous memories that floated around in his head, but nothing about being bad at games.

"He's still bad at twister, though," Mr. Dubois' voice pulled her out of her reverie. Leaning forward, she said, "Why do you insist on coming around here? Marjorie's not here, Joe and I certainly aren't making any life changing decisions, not now anyway." Mr. Dubois exhaled heavily, as if waiting for the smoke from his chewed cigar to billow out around his face. "I have my reasons, Allison," He sighed, rolling the cigar in his mouth. Allison bit the inside of her mouth in mild irritation,  _would this man ever go away?_  If it weren't for what he'd said to her earlier about the Gossamer job Joe's former boss was offering, she'd would've quick to judge the man.

"Hey, stranger," Allison was once again brought out of her thoughts, glancing up she saw Joe's eyes on her, while his hands were preoccupied with keeping Marie's hands away from the board. "You plan on joining us? We're playing clue next."

"No! No clue!" Marie proclaimed, squirming on his lap. "Yes, yes, yes!" Joe's arms wrapped themselves around her tiny body twice over, he lowered his face somewhere between her face and neck, inadvertently making her giggle. "We're playing clue, little monster," He laughed over Marie's repeated no's.

Allison, who'd been so caught up in watching her daughter laugh, started to reply when she remembered who was talking to. However, one glance at the spot Mr. Dubois had been sitting in showed that the man had departed. Typical. Taking a glance at her watch, Allison stood up from the couch and made her way towards the table, quick to remind herself of the date she had with a certain D.A.

* * *

**[End Prompt 4]**


	6. Bad Illusion So

**Title: Bad Illusion So**

**Summary:** Fainting is usually a normal during pregnancy, but why didn't Allison sense it sooner? Preseries.

**Prompt:**  6: "Fainting"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K+**

**Characters:**  Allison Dubois; Joe Dubois

**Chapters:**  6/28

**Word Count: 2499**

**Written: 10/5/09**

**Completed: 10/10/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  Trying to figure out the math for TV Show's timeline is a bitch. I've had quiet a time trying to figure out when Allison lost her first child (Brian Dubois). I know it was some time in the spring she lost him (according to Allison in  _"Sweet Child O'Mine (S2)"_ ), but the year is never mentioned. I'm  _assuming_  it occurred somewhere around 1991. This is all judged by how long Joe and Allison have been married (14 or 15 years according to Joe in S3's  _"Whatever Possessed You"_  circa 2007, if memory serves me correctly). "Bad Illusion So" is an Anagram of Allison Dubois.

* * *

_In and out, in and out._

_Out and in, out and in._

_In and out, out and in._

Allison breathed slowly as her husband rubbed her swollen belly of twenty weeks with butter cream, rocking bath and forth as he listened to his walkman, a method of calming himself down. They'd been on a strange physical/emotional level with each other since Allison found out she was pregnant. If she was struck with morning sickness, almost exactly the same time the next day, Joe would be in the bathroom, puking his guts out. If she had the munchies, Joe was right along with her devouring whatever was grabbed out of the fridge.

Almost immediately, she noticed a slight fullness in Joe's usually thin face. She'd warned him, albeit playfully, that if he didn't stop sympathy eating, no amount of puking was keep him from getting fat like her.  _"I can't help it, Al,"_  He said, sounding so much like a protesting little boy, " _I'd heard about this kind of thing happening, but I never thought it would happen to me. Witchy woman…"_  Allison didn't miss the irony of the words. She'd cursed him alright, but it wasn't with a case of the sympathy-munchies.

Adjusting herself on the mattress, she watched Joe face, alight with awe, while picking up the faintest sound of Diana Washington through his headphones. They'd been in the bed since after five o'clock, neither of them really in the mood to eat any dinner, rattling off a list of names they could name their growing baby boy. Allison liked the idea of naming her son Sam, but Joe brought up the possibility that kids in the future might end up nicknaming him "Samantha", so she scrapped that idea.

Like the over-prepared man he was, Joe pulled out a baby-naming book he'd picked up from the library on his way back from work. Allison looked through the book, taking note of the blue highlighted names that Joe selected.  _Dean, Joseph,_ -she laughed at that one-  _Brian, Michael, Donald, Stephen, Dennis, Robert, John, Jimmy,_  and… Allison had paused at the last highlighted name, quick to give him a look. "Your father's name?" She voiced, quirking an eyebrow.

Joe had shrugged innocently at his choice, inquiring if would really be so terrible if they had a son named after his father. "Yes, the man doesn't like me. I don't need a reminder in the form my baby," She retorted, slapping his arm with the book. "Alright, scratch that then," He'd said, grabbing a black magic marker from under the bed.

_No skin off my nose._ Allison nodded appreciatively when she saw he'd blacked out the name. They spent another half hour deciding over names before Allison settled on "Brian". It was a nice name, a normal name for a boy and unless they discovered how butcher it for sole purpose of making fun of him, Allison had yet to learn about it. A easy silence befell them after Joe offered to rub her stomach with butter cream and he'd put his headphones on.

U2's " _Even better than the real thing"_  had started to play, Joe's rocking had become quicker, almost moving with the beat of the song. Well, that song was less than therapeutic, she noted and raised a hand to tap him. As if on cue, his headphones slid forward off his ears, he jerked back, the musical trance broken. Allison watched them land between them, music still roaring through the quiet room. Using his free hand, he turned off his walkman. "That's enough music for one night," He sighed. "How'd I do?"

Allison struggles to sit up, she's not exactly big enough have any trouble lifting herself up, but her back has been killing for the last couple weeks, and she mainly depended on Joe to help her out. Peering down at her stomach, Allison doesn't see a trace of the lotion he applied. "You did good, I bet little Brian appreciates it," She said.

Joe chuckles, he'd kiss her stomach but he didn't want a mouth full of lotion as the aftertaste. "Look at you," He says, lying down. "Babe's not even here, your already speaking for him."

"it's a cardinal right of all mommies," Allison explains, shifting to her side a little. Automatically, her hand found its way to her stomach. "He's been quiet all day today. You think that's normal?"

"Of course," Joe replied. "He's probably just sleeping, he was quiet the excitable baby yesterday during the ultrasound."

Allison laughed. "He was, wasn't he? I can't wait until he's here."

"You can wait," Joe yawned into his lotion-lathered hand. "Only twenty more weeks to go and then it's out the oven. Keeping us up all night." Allison nodded absentmindedly as the lights go out in the room. She rolled back onto her back, allowing Joe to snuggle up close to her and drape one arm just above her protruding stomach.

Later that night, Allison woke up with the strong urge to relieve herself. Groggily, she turned to check on Joe, he was fast asleep on his stomach, face buried in the pillow and halfway off the bed. Sitting up a little, she noticed that her lower half had taken up half the space on the bed, which would explain the precarious position her husband managed to get himself into. Reaching over, she gave his shirt a good tug.

Automatically, Joe pulled himself away from the edge of the bed and back into the middle, all without waking up. A tired small graced Allison's features, that man slept like a rock. Sliding over to the edge of the bed, Allison shuffled across the floor toward the bathroom. Quietly as she could, she slipped through the half open door, careful not to bump her stomach against the door frame. When she was done in the bathroom, Allison left the bedroom, not quiet ready to go back to bed. Joe had yet to wake from his slumber, apparently unaware of the void in the bed. She didn't mind, he deserved his rest.

He'd been a excitable and nervous as a cat during the first twenty weeks of her pregnancy; They hadn't reached the point where she had to stay home, they continued on with life as usual. He went to work, she went to her classes, still there were times when she found her pager ringing, the inevitable question of if she needed anything always the first thing that spilt forth from Joe's mouth when he called her or vice versa. It was a welcome respite, to have a connection with someone who cared so much for her, adored her without question. As much as she loved her mother, there was always a lack of understanding between them that always put them at a distance.

Strolling through the living room, Allison entered the kitchen, her mind set on making a meal out of the last bag of potato chips. Joe had hidden them atop the fridge behind a box, but Allison knew exactly where they were.  _One of the few perks of this "gift",_  she thought to herself. Stepping up on her tiptoes, Allison used her fingertips to push the box out of the way, the bag of chips stared back at her like golden statue. Smiling to herself in victory, she snatched the bag off the refrigerator and prepared to ravage it.

The salty tang of the chip in her mouth made her toes wiggle, humming happily she started over to the couch when a sharp pain shot through her stomach. Immediately, her hand went her stomach, the bag of chips momentarily forgotten.  _What was that?_  Allison exhaled heavily, trying to calm herself down. Lowering her left hand, she started to walk again when the exact same pain hit her again, this time in a consecutive wave. Hunching over, Allison gritted her teeth against the lingering pain.

The conclusive "this isn't normal" struck her before the second wave had finished and she tried to call out to Joe, but the third wave of pain was the worse. Her voice lost, Allison sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Rocking back and forth, much like she saw her husband do earlier, Allison let out a gasp at the wetness growing beneath her legs. Bracing herself against the growing pain in her stomach, Allison shouted as loud she could, "Joe!" before she fainted.

When Allison came to the pain was still present, but it was a like dull feeling now. Far enough to prevent any immediate discomfort, but strong enough to make her slightly uncomfortable. The sensation of lying on a mattress was the first thing she became fully aware of. Opening her eyes, Allison was greeted by blinding white lights and for the tiniest second she thought she was dead. At least until she picked up the faint smell of antiseptic and hushed voices, one of them being Joe's. Immediately, her mind came to the conclusion that she was in the hospital.

She tried to speak, her words came out in a slur of nonsense, but the sound of someone approaching the bed let her know someone heard her. She felt someone take her hand and squeeze it, Allison squeezed back. "Al, Allison are you awake?" Joe's voice was thick with worry, scratchy like he'd been crying. Shifting her unfocused gaze, Allison recognized the blurred outline of her husband's broad shoulders.

"Joe, is the baby alright?" Allison tried to say, but again, her words came out in a slur. Joe seemed to understand what she was trying to say to him, however, a reassuring hand placed itself at the top of her head, smoothing back her matted hair. "Don't worry about the baby, Ally, its fine- everything's fine," As he spoke, his voice started to crack. The number eight appeared in her mind, Allison didn't know what it meant, but it was on her husband's mind. Trusting in his words, she nodded slowly, trying with all her might to tighten her loose grip on his hand.

They must've put her on drugs or something, even the heart monitor sounded as sluggish as she felt. "Mr. Dubois," A foreign voice sounded out from behind her husband, a doctor, Allison picked up on the somewhat professional and detached tone like it was nothing. Joe didn't seem to hear the doctor. As her vision started to clear, she could see him staring down at her, eyes puffy and rimmed with red. "Mr. Dubois, I have to speak with you; It concerns your wife and child." That seemed to get his attention, Joe cast a weary glance over his shoulder at the doctor, but his hand never left hers. Allison watched him turn, biting her lip in pain she prepared herself for the worst. "I'll be right back, Allison-"

"No, no, don't leave. Stay with me, please," Allison begged, holding his hand tighter.

" _Mr. Dubois_ -"

"Allison, I'll only be a second, I promise. Only a second. I'm right outside the door," As he spoke, his hand flexed in hers, as if to assure that he was solid, that he wasn't apart of the nightmare she was stuck in. Swallowing against her fear, Allison started to leg go of his hand, fingernails trailing across his palm. Joe pressed a kiss to her forehead and left her side. It was the loneliest she ever felt in years, it was just her and the dull pain that was starting to come up from the background. Shaky hands placed themselves on her stomach, which felt cold as ice as opposed to the rest of her body, raging hot like she was running a fever.

The rise of fall of voices outside of her bedroom, Allison tried to focus on them to no avail. When Joe returned, he was clearer. He was wearing a pair of ragged jeans, and his denim jacket, the shirt he slept in underneath. The doctor hovered by the doorway, careful to keep her distance, Allison noticed her and looked back to Joe. "I have something to tell you," He said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's about the baby."

"Wha-what about Brian?" Her mouth was moving a little better according to speed of her thoughts. "Is he alright?" Groggily, Allison beckoned him toward her, Joe didn't move.

"Joe? Joe he is alright?" She asked, voice raising.

* * *

_Premature labor._  That's the term the doctor had used to describe what Allison experienced in the kitchen. They'd given her drugs to dull the pain from the contractions, but there was nothing they could do to keep the baby from arriving. Sufficed to say, Allison was beside herself with grief. She'd done everything she was supposed to, hadn't she? Didn't overexert herself, ate the right foods, took her prenatal vitamins, went to bed early. None of it, absolutely  _none of it,_  amounted to anything. She still became another statistic, her baby boy still died.

The memory of watching the doctors place Brian's prone, underdeveloped body on the small table, played over and over in her head. Allison hardly remembered Joe holding her while she wailed, just waking up from another drug induced slumber. Now Joe sat next to her bed, face wet with tears.

Joe acknowledged that she was awake, but said nothing, he didn't force a smile. Allison felt a chill creep its way down her spine as reality settled back into her mind. Fighting back tears, she reached out for him. He fingers clawed his denim jacket, gripping the edges its wide collar, Joe turned to look at her in question, tears running down his face again. She continued to tug on his jacket, but he didn't budge, he didn't dare move from his place beside her.

A sob escaped her, effectively startling the man out of his haze. " _Please,_  I need you," She rasped. "Please hold me." It took a second, from Joe's posture alone he looked frozen his place; hands gripped his knees, his legs were set apart from each other touching both the arms of his chair, his back was ramrod straight. Allison's final tug on his jacket seemed to do the trick though. His entire body slumped forward, the sob he'd been holding back slipped out.

He pulled himself from the chair and climbed into the bed, Allison moved her body as much as she could, still sore from her ordeal. Lying down, Joe wrapped his arms around his wife, she did the same, ignoring the pain from her midsection. Pressing her face against his shoulder, Allison listened to his uneven breaths as he cried, while silently shedding her own tears.

_In and out, in and out._

_Out and in, out and in._

_In and out, out and in._

* * *

**[End Prompt 6]**


	7. Object of Desire

**Title: Object of Desire**

**Summary:** Marie's Fascination with Daddy's laptop (Season IV).

**Prompt:**  7: "What Do you Think Your Doing?"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K**

**Characters:**  Marie Dubois; Joe Dubois

**Chapters:**  7/28

**Word Count: 545**

**Written: 10/10/09**

**Completed: 10/11/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**

* * *

It was a constant presence ever since Marie could remember, always sitting idle on the table while her father sat hunched over it. There was a memory wrapped in a comfortable fog that Marie loved to reference the most. She remembered the rumble of her father's voice as he carried her through the house against his hip, while she suckled on her pacifier and her mother's voice drifted from somewhere ahead of them. The most vivid fragment in her mind, though, was without doubt the shiny box that always sat on the table. Daddy's shiny box.

He sat on her his lap, talking to her in that voice that always made her giggle, even with her pacifier in her mouth, before averting his attention to his shiny box. His fingers danced across the keyboard painted with letters and numbers and seconds later they would appear on the screen. When she got older, her sister Bridgette explained that the shiny box she was taken with was called a laptop. "Basically, its like really small computer without all the extra stuff," Bridgette said. "Its got this really,  _really_  cool pad on it, so your, like, using your fingers instead of a mouse to move the arrow around." That enticed Marie's curiosity even more now that it had a proper name.

Everytime, she saw her daddy at the table, typing something on his laptop, she wanted nothing more than to play with it. Their mommy was always telling them not to play with it, however. "Daddy's computer is not a toy. It's very important for his work, so you can't touch it," Mommy said, not at all in a mean way. She, Bridgette, and Ariel always nodded "yes". Marie always tried to do what mommy told her to do, but now was not one of the times.

She was the first one up, before everyone, which was becoming a new habit for the youngest Dubois now that mommy and daddy were home more often than they used to be. Marie went to get something to drink when she saw it sitting on the table, screen illuminated. Marie didn't mean to play with daddy's computer, but it was just sitting there, all alone and shiny. She didn't see the harm in pressing a few buttons. Her original reason for coming into the kitchen forgotten, Marie found herself settled in the chair, exploring the wonders of the shiny laptop.

"Marie?" The girl jumped in her seat, fingers retracting from the laptop's keyboard like she'd been slapped with a ruler. Peering over the chair, Marie found herself staring into the surprised face of her father. "What do you think your doing, young lady?"

Marie averted her gaze downward. "Playing with your computer, daddy," She said. Daddy crossed the space between them, Marie ducked when he reached over and closed the laptop.

"Didn't mommy tell you not to play daddy's work computer?" he asked. Marie fidgeted under his gaze, adjusting her new glasses, she nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," Marie replied. Daddy pulled her out of the seat and held her like he used to, only now her legs went past his stomach and dangled against his own.

"S'okay, as long you remember not to do it again."

"Okay Daddy."

* * *

**[End Prompt 7]**


	8. Secret Language

**Title: Secret Language**

**Summary:**  Joe and his relationship with numbers.

**Prompt:**  8: "Equation"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:K**

**Characters:**  Joe Dubois; Allison Dubois

**Chapters:**  8/28

**Word Count: 868**

**Written: 10/11/09**

**Completed: 10/11/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  Joe probably doesn't think of numbers in quite the manner I describe, but this is basically how the story came to me. Also, I don't have a college courses magazine in front of me, so sorry of any of the descriptions concerning that are a bit off.

* * *

Joe was considered something of an oddball in his family; all of his sisters hated math, absolutely hated it. It wasn't because they were bad at it, on the contrary, it was just to them, math was the worst way to spent the first hour of homework, or school for that matter. Joe on the other hand, loved doing his math homework, loved being able to figure the problems out before his classmates.

It was a unspoken rule in the house that math would be the first thing to be completed before going on to do English, history or anything else. Sara, Amanda, and Mara always tried to do the opposite, but their mother made sure it was their math books that were open. Joe usually ventured away from the living room and finished his math in his bedroom, unable to take all the fuss his sisters were making.

Numbers spoke him in an way he liked to think was a exclusive to him and him alone. Simple math problems, like seven plus five, which equaled twelve, or six plus five, which equaled eleven, lead him to believe there a special relationship between those specific numbers. Almost like they were the beginning of a endless tale strung together like a spider's web, depending on how you went about getting to the answers or solving the problems.

The more advanced the math became, the more complex the tale. Division was a his favorite subject in middle school; it was like watching lovers become more or less of what they were originally. In his opinion, the story was more of a inconclusive than conclusive. Multiplication was third, a sprawling tale of a relationship between that would only grow stronger with time, while subtracting and rounding off numbers, his second favorite subject, was about watching people or things change and vanish around you. Algebra was probably the most challenging story to finish in high school, but once he got the hang of the method, it was a cakewalk.

On several occasions, he found himself stuck in the same room with Sara, helping her with her algebra. By the time he graduated high school and applied MESA University in Phoenix, Arizona, Joe was ready for a new challenge. In the beginning he had a time toiling over which subject(s) to major in; Astronomy, physics or mathematics? All three subjects were incredibly appealing, especially astronomy, but ultimately he chose the subject that made him the happiest. And that was engineering and mathematics, astronomy was his back up plan in case he changed his mind.

It was nice to surrounded by people who enjoyed math on the same level as he did, even better when he partnered up with someone and used said favored subject to try and come up with something. When he met Allison Rolen at Fat Bobby's bar and grill in 1988, he was a bit on the tipsy side. He just aced an interview for an internship with a company he'd considered working for and went celebrating with his friends. He'd just ordered another round of beer when she slid up beside him, asking for a whisky.

In corner of his eye, he sized her up; 5'2', looked about eighteen or twenty years old and absolutely curvy in all the right places, especially in the waist where her jeans hugged her perfectly. When he introduced himself to her, Allison paused and gave him this kind of knowing look before finally introducing herself. Somehow or another, they got to talking, their respective parties totally forgotten. They made themselves comfortable at a table not too far from the bar.

Her expression was a one of a person who did her best to listen and look interested, while he rambled on and on about his job interview in like a giddy school boy. In all honesty, he was dazzled by her quirky smile, blue eyes, and dry sense of humor. Not to mention the odd way she picked up on what he was trying to say before he actually said it. He wasn't sure why he was telling her all of this, it just felt like the thing to do.

When the night was nearly over, Joe left his friends behind and invited her to his apartment, an invitation she gladly accepted. Joe showed her everything he owned in the little matchbox apartment, which made for a brief tour. In the middle of his enthusiastic rant on the stars, he noticed that she'd stopped at his desk and was flipping through his loose-leaf notebook. A quick look at her face made him wonder what she thinking as she studied his chicken-scratch writing, eraser markers and doodles. "You seem really good at this," Allison murmured over her shoulder.

"Good at what? Boring my guest to death?" Joe joked, scratching the back of his neck.

Allison laughed, but it wasn't at him, not really. "No," She said, closing the book. "I meant, math. You seem, I dunno… to really enjoy math. It speaks you, am I right? Almost like a voice in your head?" She waited for him to answer, it was almost like she wanted him to say yes.

"Y-Yeah, kind of," He whispered, surprised by her summation. "I know that sounds weird-  _crazy_  even-"

"No, that doesn't sound crazy at all," Allison interjected, now standing just a few inches away from him. "Not at all."

* * *

**[End Prompt 8]**


	9. The Job Takes you There

**Title: The Job Takes you There**

**Summary:**  Bridgette enlists the aid of Detective Scanlon to solve The Case of The Missing Doll (Season II).

**Prompt:**  9: "Detective"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K**

**Characters:**  Bridgette Dubois; Lee Scanlon; Allison Dubois; Joe Dubois; Ariel Dubois

**Chapters:**  9/28

**Word Count: 1055**

**Written: 10/11/09**

**Completed: 10/11/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  Have you ever read " _The Case of […]_ " books by E.W. Hildick? I used to love them when I was a kid, this is basically where the idea for this little tale came from.

* * *

Bridgette sat on the couch, lips jutting outward in a pout. Her doll was missing, had been missing for nearly three days now. The last place Bridgette remembered putting her was on the bottom bunk when she climbed out of bed to use the bathroom, when she returned from breakfast, her doll was no longer lying on the pillow. Her immediate thought was that Ariel had hid her doll from her, even accused her of it the second she raced out of the room. "I didn't take your stupid doll, Bridgette!" Ariel exclaimed, warding off her sister's swing arms.

"Yes you did, I know you! You hate my doll! Give it back!" Bridgette screamed. They went on like for another ten minutes before they were separated by Joe and Allison. Ariel had been sent to Marie's room, Bridgette was sent to pout in her and Ariel's bedroom. Their TV privileges had been taken away for one week, which only made Bridgette angrier at her sister. This was all her fault, Ariel always messed things up for her. Bridgette searched high and low all over the house for her doll baby, but she couldn't find it.

"Well, I'm sure it'll show up soon sweetie," Her mom said, after she came to her parents and asked if either of them had seen it. Without her doll, Bridgette felt companionless, there was no one besides Marie to play dress up with, and Marie was never a willing participant in that game. She always fussed about the clothes Bridgette chose for her and would never cooperate when Bridgette tried to force her into the clothes. All she had now was her  _Danielle_  books and her other toys, but they weren't as much fun when her mind was preoccupied with the whereabouts of her doll.

Brushing her hair out of her face, Bridgette watched as her father raced toward the door and her mother shouted something from inside her bedroom. No one cared a bit if her doll was missing, she was on her own in this.

Or so she thought. The front door opened, she heard her father greet and invite her mother's work friend, Detective Lee Scanlon, inside the house. Her father was the first to enter to living room, the look he gave her clearly meant "look happy", she did her best to put on her happy face, but the pout seemed to find its way past her would be happy face. Scanlon entered the room, hands in his pockets, wearing the exact same suit she'd seen him wear the last time he visited. "Allison's almost ready, I'll go tell her your here," Joe said, moving out of the living room. "Bridgette behave."

Bridgette flinched at the reprimand, detective Scanlon looked in her direction, curious. "Hey, Bridgette, how's it going?" Scanlon asked. "I can't find my doll," Bridgette blurted, instead of the proper greeting. Scanlon nodded his head, pretending to look thoughtful. Even he didn't care if her doll was missing, but cops were supposed to help people no matter what, so maybe…

"Do you think you can help me find my doll, detective Scanlon?" She asked.

Scanlon's eyebrows at the request, a little taken aback by the girl's forwardness. "I dunno, Bridgette, finding doll's aren't really my specialty," He said.

"But you're a detective aren't you? Your supposed to be able to find all kinds of things," Bridgette proclaimed. "Inspector gadget does."

Scanlon almost laughed at the comparison. He wanted to enlighten her on the difference between a detective and a inspector, but the adamant expression on Bridgette's face made him think twice about that. Pulling his hand out of his pants pocket, he gave the girl a half shrug, thinking he might as well help her while he was waiting for Allison. "Alright, where's the last place you saw your doll?"

"I put it right on my pillow on my bed, and went to eat. When I came back it wasn't there," Bridgette explained.

_Okay._  "Well, maybe you didn't put on your bed," Scanlon tried. "Maybe it fell off the bed, did you look under it?"

"I did so put it on my bed and it didn't fall under there either," Bridgette replied, glaring at the man. Scanlon raised a hand to scratch the growing stubble on his face.

"Did you try the clothes hamper?" Scanlon inquired, recalling a memory from his childhood. Bridgette started to answer then paused, her brow wrinkled in confusion at the mere thought of her doll being in the clothes hamper. "Why would she be in there?" She said. Lee shrugged his shoulders, casting a glance down the hall. Allison was coming down the hall, bag in one hand and a large porcelain-esque doll in the other.

"Sorry for the delay, I was looking for a shirt when I found the most curious thing-" Allison said, stepping into the room. Bridgette turned her attention to her mother, curious to know what she'd found when she saw it. Bridgette gave a squeak of excitement, rushing over to her mother, she snatched the doll from Allison's grasp. "You found it, you found my doll!" She exclaimed. Bridgette threw her arms around her mother's waist, Allison chuckled at her daughter's enthusiasm. She didn't find it exactly. Joe had been helping in the search for her shoe when he spotted the doll (and her shoe) lying idly underneath their bed.

"Thank you so much, mommy," Bridgette sighed. Allison smoothed her daughter's wild hair out her round face. "Don't thank me, thank your dad. He's the one found it, under our bed," She said. Bridgette made a small "o" with her mouth, suddenly remembering that she'd been playing hide and seek with her doll, just a couple of days ago. Allison noticed the red creeping up on her middle child's face, knowing exactly what was going through her little head then.

"Well, now that your doll has been found, I want you to go and apologize to your sister," Allison ordered. Bridgette's excited face fell immediately at the mention her older sister, with a nod she started to leave the living room when she remembered detective Scanlon. The man was standing in the same place, his expression placid. "Thanks for your help, detective Scanlon!" She said.

"Your welcome, Bridgette," Lee replied.

* * *

**[End Prompt 9]**


	10. Wait it Out

**Title: Wait it Out**

**Summary:**  "Love is a many Splendid thing"; Allison searches for love.

**Prompt:**  10: "Love"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **T**

**Characters:**  Allison Dubois; Joe Dubois

**Chapters:**  10/28

**Word Count: 1104**

**Written: 3/5/09**

**Completed: 3/5/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  This is something I'd written in early March on a stray piece of paper but never thought of posting until now. I hope you enjoy :D.

* * *

When I was little, I always wished I had a place I could runaway to, a place to hide from the loud 'disagreements' my parents would have, or the simple looks of disappointment my mother would give me when I unconsciously spout the first unpleasant thing that jumped into my mind about our next door neighbor. The bed never worked, my parents always found me, I tried the closet and prayed that it would take me to another world, away from their chaos, before my mother found my hiding place.

Someplace I could talk to Grandma Benoit about the all the things that plagued my mind, even if I didn't understand what it all meant, my dreams. My parents were miserable together, whatever brought them together in the beginning had long since dissolved by the time she turned eleven. I can't even remember whether or not if I was mommy or daddy's girl, but I knew my father loved me. Just not enough to stay with my mother - or take me with him.

As I got older, the that dream of running away to Grandma Benoit's home never truly left me; I'd spend hours at the park, plotting and planning on how to go about packing my things and sneaking out of the house, catching a bus or calling a cab to take me there. When I was in high school, I wanted a prince to sweep me off my feet and make his princess, but with the sudden increase of dreams, the steady loss of my friends - particularly Izzy - and my mother's absolute refusal to listen to me about my dreams, I felt alone and the dream of prince charming just started to dwindle into a pipe dream. It was like that for the longest time until I met Clay Bicks in my Sophomore year of college. He made me forget all about the dreams, the lack of friends, my mother even. Everything. He swept me off my feet, took me out on long rides on his motorcycle and odd date locales.

Clay never bothered to impress me, he just thrilled me. And for a long, long while, I was content with where I was with him. That is, until the dreams started up again; They showed me that Clay had started to pay attention to other women. He never bothered to tell me, I never brought it up. I'm not sure what made me think he would stick with me, maybe some false hope that he was a "one-girl" kind of guy. My prince charming. But, of course, by the time he started doing this, I realized I wanted something different, needed a serious change of pace. So I broke it off. He wasn't happy, but I knew he'd get over it in time. Again, I was alone for some time until that day in the bar, during my last year a freshmen and starting on his senior year in college.

A young man with deep brown eyes and short sandy blonde hair came up beside me and requested a beer from the bar tender, then almost impulsively said "Hello" to me. And I was taken completely by surprise when I looked up and saw the man of dreams, of my literal dreams. Joe Dubois, minus several years off. Trying to cover my surprise, I said hello back and introduced myself with the last name "Rolen". He smiled, returning the handshake.

"Nice to meet you Allison, my name's Joe. Joe Dubois," We talked for hours at the bar (even after his friends left, slapping hands at the prospect that their friend would probably getting laid that night.  _As if_ ), staring with the little things, like, what our favorite colors or foods were, how old we were (turns out he was four years my senior, and I his junior). When the bar closed, I was stumbling over my own feet, giggling, while Joe assisted me in walking in a straight line.

Like a gentleman he asked if I would like to… well, I don't how gentlemanly you can sound when asking a girl if they would like to come over to your apartment, but he asked regardless. "I would  _love_  to," I told him, taking his hand. So he took me up to his apartment and spent a good half-hour, divulging me in his dream to see the stars, maybe even join NSA. I swear he had to be more intoxicated than he was letting on, because he showed me his outer-space themed lunch box from third grade and telescope.

It was only a moment after he stopped talking that looked at me with the most apologetic face. "I'm sorry. I practically kidnapped you and bored to tears with all this," He said. I laughed at him, scooting closer to him on the bed. "No, not to all. I had fun, thank you for showing me all this," I said with a gesture of my mind. He stared me with those beautiful brown eyes, puzzled. Almost like he couldn't believe me.

"Really?" He asked, eyebrows raised. Acting on impulse, I cupped his face with my hands and caught a glimpse of a fidgety boy trying to escape his mother before she kissed him. I smiled. "Really," I repeated. Joe smiled too, leaning into my left hand's embrace, lips poised to kiss the warm flesh of my palm. He gave me this forlorn look.

"So, uh, I guess you wanna go home now, huh?" I shifted my gaze downward for a second to give the illusion that I was thinking about it, when in reality, I'd already made up my mind about staying. The fuzzy memory of the two of us strolling through a supermarket, talking like two of the greatest friends in world, flashed in mind. Leaning forward so our foreheads met, he watched me carefully until I met his gaze. "No. I really don't," I whispered. And that was it. He gave me the biggest smile and leaned in to kiss me.

The morning after, I woke up lying next to him, his arms wrapped around me and his face buried in my hair. Outside, the trees danced in the wind and birds sang. I felt him stirring against me, so I adjusted myself until I was facing him. Joe opened his eyes and smiled. "Hi," He said, his voice hoarse. "Hey, Joe," I whispered with a giggle.  _This_  was my price charming, he made me feel special, wanted, needed and loved all at once. Without really wanting to, I picked up the same assortment of feelings from him. Suddenly, I found myself thinking,  _this is what love must really feel like_.

* * *

**[End Prompt 10]**


	11. An Hour Before The Light

**Title: An Hour Before The Light**

**Summary:**  Allison and Joe watch their newborn breathe while she sleeps.

**Prompt:**  11: "Breathe"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K+**

**Characters:**  Allison Dubois; Joe Dubois; Marie Dubois

**Chapters:**  11/28

**Word Count: 758**

**Written: 10/11/09**

**Completed: 10/12/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  One of the many prompts I've been just  _dying_  to do, especially after seeing "Then and Again".

* * *

"You look exhausted. Beautiful, but exhausted."

Allison averted her gaze away from the bundle in her arms toward the doorway of her hospital room. There was Joe, in all his equally exhausted glory, leaning against the doorframe with a balloon in one hand and a white coffee mug, with hallmark card taped to it, in the other.

She managed a small smile for her husband before giving him a once over. "You try being in labor for 38 hours and see how you feel, or  _look_  even," She retorted, not at all jokingly. Joe made a face, not exactly keen on the mental image that popped in his at the mere description of his wife's then-agony. "Hmm, I'd rather not, thanks," He sighed, stepping into the bedroom.

"How are the girls?" Allison asked. Joe took his place in the swivel chair next to Allison's hospital bed with a groan, he sat the mug plus greeting card on the bedside table, already littered cards and other gifts, and tied the helium inflated "congratulations!" balloon to the railing of her bed.

Allison watched it go up and stop mere inches from the ceiling before taking the time to regard her husband. The circles under his eyes were direct product of trying keep his ten and five year old entertained at home while Allison and the new baby rested. "Their asleep, finally," Joe answered. "I swear they have more energy than I did at both ages, respectively." He pauses and glances at the items he placed on the table and hospital bed. "Those are from Nick and Diane."

Allison nodded, grinning. "I figured," She said, nodding her head toward the white mug. Joe said nothing in response to that, not sure what his wife meant by what she said. Brushing it aside, he focused his attention on the sleeping figure wrapped in a pink blanket. "How's the baby?" He asked instead. The most he could see of her was her little nose and lips, followed by the wisp of sandy brown hair that peeked out from beneath her pink cap.

Allison rubbed the bottom of newborn's bottom affectionately. "She's doing just fine, just finished eating a hour ago," Allison relayed. Joe gave a brief nod his head, rubbing his hands together excitedly. For another minute, Allison watched her husband in the corner of her, just staring at his anticipative expression with amusement. "Do you wanna hold her?"

Joe was startled out of his trance, eyes wide with restrained excitement. "Can I?" He whispered, biting the edge of his lip. Allison laughed at her husband's hesitation, he acted like this the last two times she gave birth; Fidgety and afraid of touching his own child, in fear that he would break her. She could attest to the strength of her own children though, they weren't fragile beings, at least not in the way her husband was thinking. "Joe, she's half yours.  _Of course_  you can hold her," Allison replied, all while giving him a weird look.

It was all Joe could do to contain himself, as Allison leaned over and shifted the baby over to him, Joe jumped a little at the sound of gurgle. The second Joe had the baby in his arms, her little fists were raised and she started to squirm in his arms. Both Joe and Allison shared a wince, neither of them meant to wake her. But instead of crying, she just make a cooing sound, big blue eyes staring back up at her father. "Aw, she said hi," Allison laughed, relieved. Joe just smiled down at his daughter. "Hi back, little one," Joe chuckled. "Hi, Marie."

Marie Dubois cooed again, managing a tiny smile for the familiar voice above her. It was different than the one she'd heard earlier, but it was familiar nonetheless. She was as soft as a kitten, Joe could tell even with the blanket acting as a buffer between his skin and her body. His smile just got wider at the feel of her sides inflating and deflating as she breathed. Lowering his face, Joe rubbed his nose against her tiny one, listening to her cooing become longer.

Her tiny fingers found their way to his face, pads pawing carefully across his recently shaven face moving toward his nose. Joe sat up again, he felt his face would break if he smiled any harder. "She's beautiful, babe," He exhaled. "Just like her mom." Allison rolled her eyes at her husband's honest flattery, the prickle of tears making itself known.

* * *

**[End Prompt 11]**


	12. The Planets Bend Between Us

**Title: The Planets Bend Between Us**

**Summary:**  Joe attempts to surprise Allison with disastrous results (Preseries).

**Prompt:**  12: "Pleasure"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **T**

**Characters:**  Allison Dubois; Joe Dubois

**Chapters:**  12/28

**Word Count: 1496**

**Written: 11/12/09**

**Completed: 12/2/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  Finally completed after a whole month of writer's block. I'm having way too much fun with writing pre-series scenarios.

* * *

Allison had not been expecting to see Joe at all that week.

They had managed to come to an understanding on their schedules, which were packed with studying for finals. Busy with trying to finish her essay, Allison was taken completely by surprise when her roommate, Amanda, answered the knock at their door and Joe practically let himself inside. He was adamant that she come with him, right away, despite her constant reminder that she had a paper to finish. "I promise, you'll be back before sunset," He assured her.

Sunrise. Which meant he was going to keep her out for the rest of the afternoon, which she  _really_  wanted to devote to studying. She gave in, however, as Amanda was quick to side with Joe and eventually forced her out of the room.

Left without a place to go, Allison relented and allowed her boyfriend to drag her away from the campus. "You won't regret this, I promise," He told her. "I better not," She muttered. Joe lead her around downtown, showing her places he'd recently discovered in his four years in Phoenix, Arizona. Allison, of course, was familiar with most of the locales he dragged her to. She was so preoccupied with why, however, that she hardly let on to her knowledge of the places he took her to. No, she just enjoyed the rest of  _Tour-Dubois_.

Soon, Joe lead them back to his apartment. Allison thought of reminding him of his promised deadline (one look outside and she could see the sun setting behind the buildings), but decided against it. Their feet shuffled across the worn hardwood floor as Joe led Allison down the narrow hallway of the apartment complex. Allison giggled, she reached up and tried to move the blindfold, but Joe's hands were quick reclaim hers, pinning them down at her side's.

"You'll ruin the surprise," He chuckled. Allison turned to face him with a toothy grin, walking backward toward the door as she did so. "I don't wanna be surprised, the suspense is killing me!" She proclaimed, laughing. Joe admired the way her entire face, not just her lips, seemed to smile, it actually made his stomach flop. In a good way.

"It's a surprise, it's suppose to kill you. Otherwise what's the point of it?" He replied.

"Hmm, you're a bad man Mr. Dubois." Allison played with the lapels of his jacket, fingers carefully making their way toward the buttons of his dress shirt, Joe shooed them away gently.

"So I've been told," He said, turning her around. Allison felt Joe's hands leave her shoulders; without the use of her eyes, her hearing seemed more heightened than before, every rustle and breath he took or made, seemed louder or created a mental image of his movement in her head. "Here we go," Came Joe's relieved voice. She felt his arm brush past her own, followed by the familiar click of his apartment door unlocking.

Allison was led inside the apartment, she relied on her last memory of the floor (and Joe) to keep her from falling over the many discarded items on the floor. "Careful, watch your step there," Moving out from behind her, Joe guided her away from his book pile toward the kitchen.

"Still haven't gotten around to cleaning up?" She asked, reaching out for him. Joe took one of her hands and lead her into the kitchen.

"N-no, not really, I've been kinda busy," He replied distractedly.  _I'll say, it smells like a bakery in here._ Without guidance, Allison found her way to the stool just a couple inches away from her. "Alright, hang tight for a second," He said. Allison nodded, even though she couldn't see his response. She listened to him move about the small space he called his kitchen, muttering to himself about a 'bad idea' while he rummaged through his cabinets for something.

Despite the pleasure she was getting from the smell of freshly baked bread - and something very sweet -, the smell was driving Allison's stomach crazy, she felt it growl and groaned. "Okay, now your just being mean," Allison grumbled. There was a soft chuckle from Joe, from the sound of it he had his head stuck in the fridge. "Believe me," He said, his voice clear and loud. "That, my dear, was not my intention." Joe now stood next to her, Allison looked in his general direction with a coy smile as the sound of something being placed in front of her echoed in the virtually empty apartment.

She would have to remember to drag him to furniture store one day, there was no excuse for one's apartment looking so… vacant. There was another pause, she heard the sound of a lighter being ignited, now what was he doing? "Okay, one more sec-" She felt Joe start to undo the knot in the blindfold around her face, the fabric came undone. Allison breathed a short sigh of relief when the blindfold was gone from her face, cracking open one eye she slowly adjusted to the brightly lit kitchen area, air danced lightly around her face, her skin seemed to absorb it as it drifted by. Raising her hands to her face, she scrubbed the "sleep" from her eyes then shifted her attention where Joe stood, only to find him missing.

"Over here," He said. Allison faced the front of the counter again, her knees bumped into the edge of the counter's base, blue-green eyes focusing on the chest in front of her. Looking up she smiled at him. "So what's my surprise?" She asked, mock-giddy. Wordlessly, Joe pointed down at the counter. Allison started to roll her eyes, but decided to indulge his silent request. Sitting on the counter was a perfectly round cake, decorated in marble frosting and a blue candle in the shape of a 20 on it. Her first instinct was too stick her finger into the frosting, but then something occurred to her. She focused on Joe's expectant face with a frown. Immediately, his face fell as well.

"What? You don't like marble frosting?" He asked, panicked.

"No, no, no!" She said quickly. "It's not that. It's just that my birthday isn't until three months from now."

"What- seriously!" He blurted, moving away from the counter. Allison watched him move across the living room and vanish around the corner into his bedroom. She reframed from laughing, content with just imagining him rummaging through paper in his bedroom like a mad man. The sound of a drawer slamming shut proceeded right after a quiet, "Damnit," from Joe. Allison listened to his footfalls coming down the hall, he appeared a second later, face red as a beat. "That is the last time I ever listen to your brother," He grumbled, crossing the living room.

"Michael? When'd you talk to my brother?" Allison questioned, genuinely curious. Joe placed his elbows on the counter and rested his chin on the back of his hand. "Last week at the bar. It was so random, he came up to me and just started talking. I was so hammered, that I never even bothered to ask what he was doing here-"

"Probably just passing through," Allison supplied.

Joe shrugged. "Probably. Anyways, just before he left, he told me that your birthday was this week and that your favorite cake was vanilla with marble frosting. Why on earth that was the one thing I remembered in the morning, is beyond me. I just started planning to surprise you- and…" He gestured to the cake. "This is the end result."

"Well, I love the cake," Allison placed both hands overtop his left one. "Regardless of my brother's cruelty, I think it was very thoughtful of you to make a birthday cake for me."

"Ah, your just saying that," Joe pouted.

"No! Really, I mean it," Allison chuckled. "This is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me. I don't mind celebrating my birthday early."

Joe didn't say anything for a long time, he stared dejectedly at his handiwork before looking up at Allison. He was the greatest at reading people, but with Allison there were no charades. The earnest expression on her face was all he needed to know that she was telling the truth. Pushing away from the counter, he joined Allison on the other side. "Your serious?"

Allison nodded. "Completely. Besides, we can't let all your hard work to waste. With a few beers, a spot on the couch and a nice movie, we can make the most of this." Grabbing his hand, Allison guided it toward the cake and sampled the frosting with his finger. Joe felt himself blushing again when she proceeded to lick to the frosting from his finger.  _Delicious._

"Hmm, that sounds like a great idea," He nearly squeaked. Allison stood up from the chair and walked around him. Grabbing the cake off the counter, she started toward the living room. "I know it does," She said. "You get the beer, I'll pick the movie."

* * *

**[End Prompt 12]**


	13. Biding My Time

**Title: Biding My Time**

**Summary:**  "The bad Sarmatian", aka, Sonny Troyer will be forever grateful for Allison Dubois' interference.

**Prompt:**  13: "Grateful"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **T**

**Characters:**  Sonny Troyer

**Chapters:**  13/28

**Word Count: 1010**

**Written: 12/8/09**

**Completed: 12/8/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  This is my first attempt to write from the perspective of a character that wasn't the Dubois or their comrades and I've gotta say, I like the way it's come out. Sonny Troyer was a villain that was gone too soon in my honest opinion.

* * *

The stark contrast of his four-corner cell verses rambunctious energy that seemed to be the direct cause of his presence amused Sonny quite a bit. He never understood the hypocritical attitude criminals had toward each other; they got angry at you if you killed a girl or a guy among; they especially seemed to want to exact retribution against you when you killed children. And if that wasn't it, they all wanted to be your best friend whenever you managed to do something they could not. But more often than not, he noticed they wanted to stab you for "looking them funny".

Whatever that meant.

Sonny paid his neighbors little mind since he arrived, just three days ago. His seemingly unconnected string of murders, brought to a fortunate/unfortunate end by someone just like him, consumed his mind. And the ultimate irony was this  _someone_  who stopped him was a "woman". A fucking woman.

God had a twisted sense of humor, he would give the man that much. When he wanted to get back at you, he used the opposite sex. But that mattered very little to Troyer at the present moment. He was stilling riding the high of finding a kindred spirit, someone who had dreams, saw "ghosts" as they were mockingly referred to by those unlike them. The very word invoked a strange kind of anger in him. Sonny hated being called crazy, hated being called head-case by those inferior to him, all because he could see and understand something they couldn't.

He'd spent a good chunk of his lifetime searching for a person like this Allison Dubois and always came up empty handed. Years of being alone with his specialty almost made finding another medium seem like a unicorn, or an imaginary princess and dragon in the form of his own reflection staring back at him. A myth, one he would be chasing until the end of his life. Sonny had almost come to terms with this fact of reality. Then he saw his hiking girl being reported "found dead" on the five o'clock news, in conjunction with the girl he'd recently had a bit of fun with in the desert.

At first, he was a little worried. The news was covering the killing "spree" like it was a movie just weeks from being released worldwide in theaters. He skipped a couple dream girls to keep from drawing attention to himself, watching his himself young woman especially whenever he left his apartment.

It wasn't until he had a dream about the D.A. speaking with the deputy mayor and a mystery woman, who at that point had only been shown from the back, that he was sure that they had no concrete leads on him. He could have a little more fun before this was all over.

He waited a little longer, wanting to make sure this wasn't some fluke brought on by his desire. He sat in his apartment, waiting for sleep to come for him. And when it did, he dreamt of a girl named Taylor Greene. She would be alone in the house, huddled in her bed like a scared rabbit during a thunder storm, debating whether or not to call her best friend and ask her to come over. After she rattled down the home phone number in her message, Sonny woke up and prepared to strike.

Taylor Greene and the mystery woman from his dreams, later revealed to him as Allison Dubois in a press conference, were ultimately his undoing. He realized that now.

With mystery medium not so much of a mystery anymore, Sonny proceeded to hunt down all the information he could on her. The woman with a voice that held a mild southern twang, was from originally Oklahoma, married to a man from a Grosse Pointe, had three daughters and lived in Featherstone. How quaint, he was countered by the preverbal suburban soccer mom. He  _hated_  soccer moms, especially one as self-righteous and pretentious as this one.

Climbing into his car, he enjoyed the slow ride down into the suburbia, practicing what he would say to her. Parking across from her house, which was just as homely and plain as he expected it to be, he dialed her number, counting down the seconds to when the husband would answer it. Instead, Allison answered, completely unaware of who she was about to speak to and he took advantage of that. Sonny spoke to her in the friendliest way possible, without really meaning to. Allison didn't realize who she was talking to until he mentioned his visit to Taylor's house. He smiled at the fear creeping into her voice as she tried to intimidate him with threats to call the police, who would track his call.

"And you know as soon as I hang up this phone, I'll just throw it away. That is… after I pull away from your house," He said, grinning all the while. That was all he needed, Sonny could practically smell her fear over the phone line as he pulled away from the curb.

Half way to Mexico, he hadn't expected his car to run out of gas, but everything happens for a reason, he guessed. Leaning against the wall, Sonny opened his journal and started to write down his latest dream.

_I'm standing over the latest girl of my dreams; she's dressed only in an undershirt and her underwear. She lies on the bed like a medusa victim, limbs rigid and frozen in their feeble position to fight back. Like an out of body experience, I'm watching myself write the words "Wrong roommate Allison" on the wall in the girl's blood, which still runs steadily from her neck._

Yes, Allison Dubois may have been a fucking woman (and a soccer mom, no less) and a fellow medium, but it turned out that she would be the  _only_  woman, besides his mother, that he would be eternally grateful to.

He just had to wait a year to thank her. He could wait until then.

* * *

**[End of Prompt 13]**


	14. Hear Me Out

**Title: Hear Me Out**

**Summary:**  Allison's gift defies everything Joe knows. How did he come to terms with her ability?

**Prompt:**  14: "Unknown"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **T**

**Characters:**  Joe Dubois; Allison Dubois

**Chapters:**  14/28

**Word Count:**

**Written: 12/9/09**

**Completed: 12/28/09**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  My take on how Allison revealed her gift to Joe now that I've seen  _"Then and Again"_  (which pretty much confirms or implies that she kept it from him for at least a chunk of their marriage, though he seemed to have some inkling of what she was talking about).

* * *

"Your sure okay, Joe? You know we wouldn't mind driving back out to mercy," Kamala's voice brought a very distracted Joe Dubois' attention away from the window of the GMC and over to her. Sitting beside him was a very animated seven-month old Marie, buckled in the spare car-seat Alan offered to him when he hitched a ride with them from the hospital. Joe placed a hand on Marie's head, causing the baby to look up from her feet, she beamed at him.

Joe considered the question for a second, he knew Kamala was probably thinking he was being neglectful, not taking Marie to the hospital for a double-check, but there wasn't a scratch on her and she certainly wasn't complaining, so that was good enough for him for now.

"I'm sure, but thank you for the offer," Joe answered, opening the passenger side door. Joe saw disappointment cross Kamala's face for a moment, but she hid it just as quickly as it appeared. Unbuckling Marie was from the car seat, Joe lifted the baby from the car seat with a tired sigh. "I'll see you next week, Alan," He called over his shoulder. There was a half-hearted response to his farewell from Alan as Joe closed the door, he paid little attention to it. Adjusting Marie so that she sat on his hip, Joe proceeded up the walkway of the house.

Kamala shouted one last goodbye, hanging out the side of her husband's window, Joe returned the gesture, shaking his head with a chuckle. For such a reserved a woman, Kamala had her enthusiastic moments. Marie babbled contentedly as she was hefted higher up on her father's side, her little fingers held on to the pink pacifier, which fell from her mouth just a few seconds ago. Joe shivered against the mild chill that that began to circulate in the air since the beginning November, Marie seemed unaffected by it though.

She seemed unaffected by a lot of things, he noted. Just like her mother, nothing seemed to bother her until it fell right on top of her. Marie certainly cried up a storm once he managed to shake himself out his stupor and crawl into the back of the car to check on her. Unlocking the door, Joe stepped into the house through the half open door. "Hello! I'm home!" He announced, kicking the door shut. There was pause, then the excited chatter of his five and ten year old daughters came echoing down the far end of the hall.

A excited squeal escaped Marie when Bridgette and Ariel came bounding around the corner, arms flailing excitedly as they cried "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!" Following right behind them was Allison, moving just as quickly down the hall, cordless phone in hand. Joe fiddled with his bangs self-consciousnessly, hoping he did a good job of hiding the bandage.

Kneeling down, Joe attempted to keep his balance when Ariel and Bridgette wrapped their arms around him, squeezing both he and Marie in a bear-hug. "Hey, hey! How are my girls?" He asked, wrapping one arm around Bridgette's small shoulders. His wild haired daughter placed a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek and patted Marie's head. Marie made a face, but never protested any further, her attention was back on her pacifier.

"We're just fine, aren't we Ariel?" Bridgette declared, shifting her gaze to her older sister.

"Yep, mommy helped us make cookies for desert tonight, didn't you mommy?" Ariel turned to their mother. Allison, who'd chosen not to speak since following her daughters, smiled softly at her Ariel. "I sure did," She said. "Bridge, Ariel, why don't you go get the cookies? I have to talk to your dad."

Despite the sweet tone that she used, all three faces fell immediately, knowing that whenever Allison asked someone to do something or go get something, the one singled out was usually in big trouble. Glancing warily at their father then back to their mother, Ariel and Bridgette hurried into the kitchen, allowing Joe to stand again. Allison spared her husband a brief look then proceeded back down the hall, Joe followed silently, gripping Marie like a security blanket.

Allison reached their bedroom first, Joe entered a few seconds later, closing the door behind him. Before he could speak, Allison turned on him, finger raised. "Why didn't you tell me about the car accident?" All the sweetness in Allison was gone, her face was twisted with anger and fear. Joe unconsciously stepped back from her. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? How scared I was?" She went on, using her finger like a ruler to discipline.

Marie whined in response to her mother's distress, Joe rubbed her back comfortingly. Moving away from the corner behind him, Joe walked over to Allison's side of the bed. How the hell did Allison know about the car accident? He had spoken only to the police and the insurance company about the accident, and that was after the woman that ran the light insisted that he should. More or less, he was a disoriented mess and regrettably, calling his wife was not at the top his priority list. Getting Marie to the hospital was.

"Joe!" Allison snapped when she didn't receive a answer.

"I'm sorry I didn't call, I meant to call. I-I just wanted to get Marie to the hospital," Joe answered in haste. His excuse was feeble, he knew it, but it was all he could offer.

"Well, is she alright?" Allison joined her husband on her side of the bed, Joe relinquished his hold on Marie, watching as she pawed excitedly at her mother when she picked her up. "Yeah, she's fine. There's not a scratch on her, in fact. Most of the damage we-"

"Don't tell me, I know what happened," Allison cut in, hugging Marie close to her. Joe looked incredulous at his wife's statement. He had a niggling suspicion that the headache creeping up on him was starting to make him short-tempered, and as much as he deserved his wife's ire for his secrecy, Allison was really pushing it with her attitude. "No, I suspect you  _think_  know what happened, Al," Joe corrected, ignoring her glare. "but unless you were in the jeep, you have no way of actually  _knowing_  happened."

"No, I  _know_  what happened. The woman in the gray car ran the red light and hit the passenger side of the jeep," Allison countered, opening the bedroom the door. Joe stood at the end of the bed, wide-eyed before finally following after her. He barely spared a glance at Bridgette and Ariel, who'd been listening to the drama on both sides of doorway, he would lecture them later on eavesdropping. By the time he reached Marie's bedroom, the door was already closing. Holding his temper check, Joe caught the door by the edge and entered.

"Allison, there's something your not tellin' me. How could've known about that, I didn't tell you that, and I'm pretty sure the insurance company or the police haven't called yet," He said, closing the door behind him. Allison shook her head, as if his question as of little importance, she placed Marie in her crib. Immediately, Marie grabbed hold of her panda bear, proceeding to suck on its ear.

"It's nothing, Joe," Allison dismissed, proceeding toward the door.

"No, no, no," Joe blocked her path with a simple sidestep. "You don't get say something and then expect me  _not_  to press the issue."

"Really, its nothing Joe. I probably shouldn't have said anything-"

"Well you said something, so answer my question."

Allison stared up at her husband's hard expression, suddenly wishing she had better control over her impulsive anger, her fleeting arrogance that caused her blurt little factoids that couldn't be explained by publicly sane reasoning. She could just ignore him, try to walk past him, but knowing her husband, he wouldn't let her past without explaining herself. And he was that damn persistent when his curiosity needed be satisfied. Exhaling slowly, she lowered her head. "Your gonna think I'm crazy," She said, lifting her gaze.

In spite of his anger, Joe cracked a grin. "Too late, darlin'. I already think you crazy," He chuckled.

Joe expected a smile in return, he didn't get one. Moving away from her husband, Allison made herself comfortable on the chair next to her Marie's crib. The two didn't say a word for awhile, Joe grew uneasy in the silence but respected Allison's need to steady herself.

"There isn't any real easy way of saying this, so I'll just say it," Allison explained. "Around 3:00pm this afternoon, when I went to pick up the girls, I fell asleep in the car. While I was asleep, I had a dream that you and our daughter would get into a car accident at 3:30pm. I saw the woman; Red hair, early twenties, beige leather jacket, blue shirt, white pants and sneakers."

There was a strange sound from Joe that almost sounded like a protest; he pressed his lips together, refusing to say anything. His brown eyes were wide open, catching the low light above.

"You hit your head on the window and blacked out. You were unconscious for about two minutes, the woman was shouting at you to wake up, pounding on the window. You hear Marie crying and you woke up, not even thinking about your injuries. You crawled out of the car, hitting the woman on the way out with the door, and opened the passenger door to get Marie."

She paused. "That's how I knew about the car accident. By the time I woke up, the girls were in the car. I hoped it was all a dream, I thought it was since when I called you were still at work and it was past 3:30. Then, I'm sitting in the living room and I reach to grab one of your shirts. Then its like I'm thrown into some weird first person. I see the clock on the car radio, its saying 5:30 and then you look up just as the car come's running through the red light and hits the passenger side of the jeep."

"I waited for you to call, I waited for hours. And when you didn't call, I thought the worse for the longest time until I saw Alan and Kamala's car pull up to house and you step out with our child." She finished. "So that's how I know. No one told me, I saw it."

"…"

Allison watched her husband's rigid posture, watched him stare at her like she wasn't there. "Well, say something!" She exclaimed.

Joe blinked owlishly at Allison. "Well, what would like to me say Allison?" He inquired. There wasn't a hint of anger in his voice, just the hesitation of what conclusion Allison wanted him to make, the type of hesitation Allison hated.

"I don't know, anything! Something besides silence and-"

"What is it your trying to tell me? That you have visions, dreams about the future?" He said.

"Yes! That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you," Allison rose from the chair and began pacing. Joe watched her with wary eyes, his entire body felt ready to either spring for the exit or crumble to the floor in exaltation. Either way, both would be overly dramatic and unnecessary, yet Joe couldn't find it in himself to want to stand still for much longer.

"…And how long has this been going on?" He asked, taking a more diplomatic route.

Allison stopped pacing and turned to face him again, instead of anger, she suddenly looked guiltier than he'd ever seen her. "Since I was six. That's when I first experienced… whatever this is."

" _Six?_  As in six years old?"

"Yes. My grandmother visited me a couple days after we held her funeral. She stood at the end of my bed, I thought she was alive-"

"Wait-wait," Joe interjected, waving his hand. "Your telling me that you see ghosts too?"

There was a small nod from Allison, Joe's eyes shifted away from her toward the blank space of nursery wall.  _This is ridiculous,_  he heard himself think, he pinched the bridge of his nose in mild exasperation, he squeezed his eyes shut. "Allison-"

"Look, I know this sounds crazy, but it's the honest-to-God truth, Joe," Allison protested. "I know things, I see things that no normal person should ever know or witness. I know about the time you and your sisters visited your Grandmother in Illinois when you were five. Amanda dared you to climb the roof, you did it and for all your troubles, ended up with a broken arm when you fell through the weakest part of the roof.

"I know about the time you snuck out of the house to see Ana Wally after you were grounded. It was the first girl you ever had sex with, but you never told you mother. I even know about the appendicitis you had when you were eight. You kept thinking the doctors were going to cut your heart out whenever you saw the surgical tools. Stop me if I'm wrong."

_Your not wrong,_ he wanted to say. Joe honestly couldn't bring himself to speak, he lost his voice somewhere along the tale of broken arms and premarital sex, none of which he actually gotten around to telling his wife about. Some part of him - the part that believed her - felt violated, angry that she could just pluck these random memories (that he wasn't even thinking about) out of his head. The other part of him, wanted to call the nearest mental institution in Phoenix and pretend the entire conversation didn't happen.

"Joe?"

"…"

"Joe… please, talk to me," Allison whispered.

Opening his eyes again, Joe searched briefly for Allison before his eyes landed on the top of her blonde hair, right in front of him. It was one of those time's he hated how light on her feet Allison seemed to be.

* * *

"Here we go, princess, all clean," Allison fastened the diaper on Marie's bottom with a tug, Marie cooed appreciatively at her mother's effort to secure her underwear. Not that she knew what underwear were, mind you, but she appreciated it nonetheless. Reaching over, Allison picked up a one piece pajama suit and proceeded to slip Marie's feet through the legs. Marie babbled on happily, oblivious to her mother's internal crisis, fingering her fresh clothing with enthusiastic curiosity.

Picking her daughter up from the dressing table, Allison discarded the sullied diaper into the garbage can, Marie blew a raspberry at the clanging sound the top of the can made when it closed, Allison gave her daughter a small smile and headed out of the bedroom.

As they traveled through the hallway, Allison picked on the quiet conversation Ariel and Bridgette were having in their bedroom, she slowed her pace and stepped over that one creaky floorboard hidden by their carpet. Ariel and Bridgette continued on with their conversation, never once noticing their mother lingering in the doorway.

Allison watched Ariel hang over the edge of the top bunk as she attempted to correct Bridgette on why mommy and daddy were fighting, but Bridgette wouldn't have any of it, she stuck her fingers in her ears and burrowed under the covers. She was right, Ariel was wrong - as always. Shaking her head ruefully, Allison continued down the hall toward her bedroom. The door was open now, which meant…

Sticking her head through the crack, Allison studied the environment. The overhead light was off and the only lamp on was hers, Joe laid spread eagle on the bed and stared up at the ceiling as if waiting for it give him answers. Clearing her throat, she rapped lightly on the door. Joe turned in response, eyebrows raised in surprise when he saw Allison and Marie standing in the doorway.

"Hey,"

"Hey, you," Allison responded. "Can I come in now?"

Joe looked thoughtful for a moment, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm done brooding now."

"You hear that, Marie? Daddy's done being grumpy," Allison announced in a childish voice. Marie gave another coo, fingers prodding at Allison's swelling chest. She was hungry and as if in-tune with her daughter's feeding pattern, her breasts felt ready to burst. Joe fought the smile creeping it's way on his face as Allison shut the door and approached the bed.

He watched her make herself comfortable on the edge of the bed and place Marie next to him. Slowly, she started to unbutton her dress shirt, Marie crawled across Joe's stomach, vying for his attention. Reaching over, Joe picked Marie up and sat her on his chest, almost immediately she made herself comfortable there.

Allison unclipped her bra and put it aside, almost shyly, she turned to face her husband, reaching for her daughter. Joe handed Marie over to Allison without question, cradling her daughter, Allison positioned Marie's eager mouth over her nipple and braced herself. Even though she'd gone through this with Ariel and Bridgette, Allison could never get used to the toothless suction baby mouths created when they were feeding.

Joe watched with mild awe as Allison breastfed their daughter. "I'm sorry about earlier," He whispered.

Allison turned and smiled. "It's okay, I shouldn't have expected you take it like everything else we fight about," She said. Joe almost laughed at the casual manner she responded to his apology, wondering if she knew how this conversation was going play out as well. Taking a breath, he sat up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed with her. Allison paid no attention to his tentative expression, more focused on pleasing the eagerness of her daughter's hungry mouth.

From his posture alone, she could tell he was having a hard time trying to properly convey his emotions about their situation to her, without snapping or sounding condescending.  _How, what and why?_  Were the questions that rang out the loudest in her head. His energy was the perfect storm, twisting her stomach in knots and making her head spin, swallowing against her own nervousness she met his gaze again.

"So you can really do this?" He asked. "You can read my thoughts -"

"Yes, but it's not as clear as you might think. Not always," Allison interrupted. "Most of it comes to me in code, none of it makes complete sense until I put the pieces together. Other times I see things in my head like a television show. Full color and surround sound, no codes, just a full on sequence."

Joe nodded numbly at her description.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"I honestly don't know what to think, babe," Joe mused. "I know I've never told you about any of the things you described to me, I know you don't have that strong of a relationship with my mother and sisters to have gotten it from them." He paused, shrugging his shoulders. "Well… the things that have nothing to do with Ana Wally, of course." A nervous laugh escaped him, hoping it would ease the tension between them.

Allison made a face.

"What I mean, is, none of this supernatural stuff really clicks with me," He said quickly. "I understand numbers and equations, things I can see and touch. Things I can figure out and determine."

Allison felt her heart sink at her words. "Joe…"

"I want to believe you, Al," Joe started, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "I do, but I just- I just need some time to get my head around this. I'll support you either way, but just give me time to swallow this." _Please"._

Allison regarded him for a moment, wondering if she should tell him off for not believing her. Aside from her mother and grandmother, Joe was the only person she revealed her gift to and unlike her mother, he was the one person she needed to hear the words "I believe you" come from their mouth. The fact that he didn't outright call her insane should've meant something to her, but Allison wanted his belief, heart and soul, otherwise he'd just be humoring her for here on out.

Shifting her gaze upward, she stared into his eyes. They always seemed to shine, even in the dimmest of light, but that really wasn't what she was looking at.

Not really.

Instead, Allison searched for the sincerity that was buried beneath all the uncertainty and second-guessing. The type of belief that someone ignored until the truth was unavoidable.

And She found it, right in the center of his mind, surrounded by fear of the unknown and alarm. It was already making it's way out from behind it's walls, radiating with a apologetic energy. Forcing a smile on her face, Allison nodded understandingly. "Okay," She whispered. "Okay."

A small smile graced Joe's thin lips, he cupped her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Tuffs of her hair tickled his eyelashes as he allowed his lips to linger on her head. "Thank you," He murmured against her skin.

* * *

**[END PROMPT 14]**


	15. Mittens and Kittens

**Title: Mittens and Kittens**

**Summary:**  Ariel and her first real snow.

**Prompt:**  15: "Snow"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K**

**Characters:**  Ariel Dubois

**Chapters:**  14/28

**Word Count: 154**

**Written: 6/21** **st** **/2010**

**Completed: 6/21** **st** **/2010**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

* * *

Ariel's freshman year in Dartmouth is the first time she ever experiences snow in all it's glory. She wakes that morning from a uneasy, but dreamless sleep, worn out from the dorm party she wore she wouldn't follow herself or her friend to attend (and did anyways), expecting to find nothing outside her window save for a few "dead" trees, sleeping until the spring returned, and students rushing back and forth across the campus.

Instead, she found a world blanketed a sheet of blinding white snow, more brilliant than she could've ever imagined.

On the way to class, she took her time to study the frozen delight, running her bare hands across every reachable surface and, on occasion, scooping the snow off the ground and throwing it into the air. She's almost sad she'll have to go back to Arizona for the holidays, knowing there would be no snow there to welcome her.


	16. Killing Business

**Title: Killing Business**

**Summary:**  In which Allison and Joe get into a fight… kinda.

**Prompt:**  16: "Borrowed"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **T**

**Characters:**  Joe Dubois; Allison Dubois

**Chapters:**  14/28

**Word Count: 523**

**Written: 6/21st** **/2010**

**Completed: 6/21** **st** **/2010**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

* * *

Allison sat next to the man on the porch of a house, currently occupied by a dozen policemen and one detective Lee Scanlon, unsure how to feel about the situation unfolding around her. Near as she could tell, he was still not himself and was still being masqueraded as another person entirely. The spirit of the other man continued to linger in him as evidenced by the furious smoking of the cigarette in his hand and the arrogance that emitted from the simple smile on his lips. He sported an ugly black eye a bleeding lip for his troubles, yet Allison couldn't find in her to feel sympathy toward him.

His one good eye finally shifted to meet her gaze and he cracked a leery grin. "Not still mad at me are ya?" He inquires in a perfect cockney accent. Allison, in response, says nothing. She wished she could smack the man sitting next to her, but it would too much like smacking her husband. "Mad is not the word I'd use, no," She answered in a icy tone that left no room for argument. He hears the crack in her voice and is almost compelled to put an arm around her, but the last time he did that earned him a slap on the face. A tear slips down her face and she wipes it way in surprised anger.

"There was a better way of handling this. You didn't have to kill him," Allison continued, sparing a glance over her shoulder. The bruised and bloodied man followed her line of sight toward the open door of the house, cut off by the yellow  _"do not cross this line"_  tape. Just out of the line of sight laid the body of the man responsible for the murder of a woman and her unborn child,  _his_  wife and daughter. He was sure the cops were studying the bullet hole right between his eyes and six in his chest and stomach. The henchman's death had been too quick for his liking, he thought. Thomas had wished to prolong the putz's agony by emptying the entire gun on his miserable corpse from the chest up, but then he'd probably should scrambled his brains last and not first.

A shadow passed over his face, he frowned as he said, "No, there wasn't. He deserved what he got comin' to him."

"And my husband? Does he deserve what's going to happen to him?" Allison snapped, standing up. "Does Joe deserve to go to jail for murder?"

"Well, that all depends on what you mean, don't it?" He grinned up at her. "There ain't a soul 'ere, 'cept you and your detective friend, that can pin this on him - _me_. No witnesses that could ever put a middle-aged family man 'ere at this house, killin' the henchmen of a drug lord who killed another man's family."

Allison stared at the man who currently borrowed her husband's face. "And you think we'll just lie and say you were never here, with the gun?" She asked. "That some random person just walked in and killed Christopher Marlow?"

He shrugged, failing to see her problem with this. "Yeah, why not? Bastards like him always manage to piss the wrong person off." He paused. "Besides, you'll do it will if you wanna keep Joe Dubois outta jail, yeah?"

"And how would I do that? There's bound to enough forensic evidence in that house to connect my husband to this," Allison cried.

"Nah, there ain't," Thomas Decker said. "I made sure of that, love. Don't you worry your pretty little head."


	17. Narc

**Title: Narc**

**Summary:**  (Preseries): Joe ends his relationship with his girlfriend.

**Prompt:**  17: "Brother"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating: K+**

**Characters:**  Joe Dubois

**Chapters:**  17/28

**Word Count:**

**Written: 11/24/2010**

**Completed: 11/24/2010**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

* * *

_"You should be in my space,_

_You should be in my life."_  - Interpol, "Narc".

* * *

The act wasn't premeditated, not in the way she believed it was, but he should've been a little more tactful in his delivery. Joe spent the entire week before his departure mulling over the pros and cons of even considering breaking up with Brooke. She was a lovely girl, the first who managed to set aside social differences and just enjoy his company in public, consequences be damned. Brooke was also the first girl he dated that wasn't in a hurry to sacrifice her virginity to him because everyone was doing it. He didn't pressure her about sleeping together, though he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to touch her everyplace whenever she got too close to him. Sixty percent of his time was spent with Brooke if he wasn't studying and she wasn't busy; His mother worried their relationship was becoming unhealthy, his sisters joked their brother had become too codependent on what they viewed was a summer fling.

As the time drew closer to his departure, Brooke made it a point of showing up every week at 6:00pm at his house and while he appreciated her attention, something inside him was being worn thin by her constant presence. She loved him that much was obvious; He loved her too, but he was beginning to wonder if it was in the same way she did. On the anniversary of their first date, Brooke took him her favorite spot in the town: The playground at the park. They sat in silence side-by-side on the swings, swinging idly back and forth, feet dragging across the gravel. "I'm gonna miss you when you go," She said this at exactly the same time he declared, "I think we need to take a break." The afternoon sun seemed to go dim when she finally realized what had been said to her. "I'm sorry?" She squeaked in a way that reminded him of his mother when she thought he just insulted her. Joe tried to keep the nervousness from his expression as he prepared to repeat himself. "I said- I think we should take a break," He said.

"W-why? Your about to leave in a week, we'll be apart for a good four years," Brooke said, voice rising. "What brought this on, Joe?"

Joe shook his head. "Nothing, I just don't think it would be fair to either of us if-"

Brooke shook her head. "You mean it wouldn't be fair to you if we continued on like we weren't a thousand miles apart," She interjected, rising from her swing. There was a part of him that would've liked to argue that she wasn't right, but the more he tried to convince himself, the less sincere the counterargument sounded in his head. "No, I don't mean- I just need..."

"Space? You'll be getting that guaranteed, so I can't understand your pretense in least. If you want to break up with me, just say so," Brooke stated hotly. Joe swallowed roughly, he didn't want to hurt Brooke's feelings, that was the last thing he wanted to do, but he seemed to be failing at doing even that right. "Do you want to break up with me?" She asked again.

"..."

"Joe!"

"Yes," He answered finally. "Yes, I want to break up with you." The words hung between them like a curtain that had fallen shut on the stage. Brooke stared at him long and hard with eyes on the brink of tearing up, but she maintained her steely gaze. "Fine. Goodbye Joe," She turned away from him and stormed away from the playground. Joe remained fixed in place, numb from the actions he set in motion.


	18. Say Hello to the Angels

**Title: Say Hello to the Angels**

**Summary:**  (Preseries, AU): Allison encounters an misplaced spirit named Pritchard.

**Prompt:**  18: "Garden"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K**

**Characters:**  Allison Benoit; Joe Dubois; Grandma Benoit; Johnny Dunham

**Chapters:**  18/28

**Word Count: 687**

**Written: 11/24/2010**

**Completed: 11/24/2010**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

* * *

Grandma Benoit's garden was one of Allison's favorite parts about visiting her grandmother; the array of colors and shapes that the flowers came were a feast for her imagination as a child. As a teenager, well, it was just a place to be whenever she needed a quiet place to think and clear her head of whatever frustrated her at the moment.

And at the moment, Johnny Dunham was really beginning to bug her and the garden was where she would stay until he got the hint that she didn't want to be bothered (or Grandma started smacking him with her spoon to get him leave her property, either one). It wasn't fair that he was trying to get into her shorts and she wasn't even ready for that kind physical relationship yet. "What's your problem, Ali? It's not even a big deal, I just-"

"I said no, Johnny!" Allison's voice had become shrill with anger and whenever that happened, everyone knew better than to press the issue. However, she never gave Johnny the chance to catch the hint. Climbing off the ground, she rushed for her bike and pedaled all the way back to her grandmother's house through the rain. She didn't stop to say hello to her grandmother, she just went straight into the backyard and sat on the porch. She would know what happened soon enough anyways. "Does he do that often, your boyfriend?"

Allison turned her attention toward the man sitting on the edge of the porch, not in the least bit surprised that he was there. "Johnny's not my boyfriend," She sighed. He smiled, amused by the pouty expression on her face. "That's not what you told me," He said.

"If you mean by the future me, then, I really can't dispute that, can I?" Allison said. "Maybe he does become my boyfriend. I just don't want to make out with him - not right now anyways." She paused, studying the khaki pants and pressed blue dress shirt that he wore. "You've been showing up here for at least week now, right?"

"Uh, yeah, pretty much."

"Are you from around here? Are you-?"

"Dead?" The man shrugged. "I dunno. I don't feel dead, not that I know how dead feels like. But I'm not from around here, no."

"Where are you from, then?"

"That's- I don't think I can tell you."

"Oh, come on, I won't go looking for you. Scout's honor," Allison insisted. The man chuckled at her persistence, shaking his head he stood up from the edge of the porch. "If you're anything like the Allison I know, you will definitely go looking for me. That might mess up the space-time continuum or something."

"You mean my meddling with the now might mess up the future where we meet?"

"Exactly, that's exactly what I mean."

"Has anyone ever told you how much of a geek you are?"

He smiled. "It's been mentioned a few times, yeah."

"Do, I even get to know your name?" Allison asked.

"Pritchard," He answered without hesitation. Allison gave him an incredulous look; that had to have been a fake name. There was no way he would give it up that easily unless it wasn't a real name. "Are you lying?"

A look of mock-hurt crossed his features. "Not at all, scouts honor," The man named Pritchard answered with a wide grin.  _Okay, now I know he's lying,_  she thought, unable to stop the grin that was tugging at her own lips. They stared at each other with those silly grins on their faces for what felt like an eternity; Allison was waiting for "Pritchard" to crack when he raised a finger toward the doorway of the porch. Taken aback, she turned toward the doorway and found grandma Benoit standing there, giving her a worried look. "Who are you talking to, dear?" She asked.

"What do you mean, grandma? You don't see-" Allison turned toward the spot where the man had been standing only to find it empty.

He was gone.


	19. Memory Serves

**Title: Memory Serves**

**Summary:**  Cynthia Keener muses over the disappearance of her daughter, Suzie.

**Prompt:**  19: "Disappearance"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K**

**Characters:**  Cynthia Keener

**Chapters:**  19/28

**Word Count:**  186

**Written: 11/24/2010**

**Completed: 11/24/2010**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

* * *

Missing.

Even after all this time the word didn't compute with her. Never in a million years did she think she - or rather, her daughter - would become a figure among the numbers. She could remember every single moment of what would be their final time speaking to each other before her disappearance. A fight was the last thing she wanted to get into with Suzie, but the girl was hardheaded and would never listen to what common sense she tried to pass on to her. Suzie was smarter than her mother, she knew better despite her lack of experience in dealing with harsh realities of the world.

Why didn't she pick up the phone when she called her again?

Why did she choose then to get on her daughter's case?

"Last call, ma'am," The bartender's voice didn't really register in her mind, yet she found herself nodding. Cynthia Keener knocked back her last shot and fished out the proper amount out of her wallet and placed it on the counter.

Suzie was still missing; maybe it was time she made her peace with that reality.


	20. Violence in Silence

**Title: Violence in Silence**

**Summary:**  Bridgette and Marie watch "Gundam Wing".

**Prompt:**  20: "Robot"

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K**

**Characters:**  Bridgette; Marie

**Chapters:**  20/28

**Word Count:**  179

**Written: 11/24/2010**

**Completed: 11/24/2010**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

* * *

Bridgette sat on the couch next to Marie, eyes transfixed on chaos going on the screen. "Why are they fighting?" Marie asks occasionally whenever one of the giant robots engaged in a glorious battle that ended in bright colors and explosions too real to be the product of a cartoon. Bridgette would shrug, not terribly sure herself why they were fighting.

"Not sure. I think maybe the guys in the ugly green robots did something to the Gundams," She replied. Marie would be quiet for a little while after that, when the characters started talking about "Peace" and "War", they would get confused again, not really focused on anything except the fighting.

"What's a Gundam?" Marie asked.

At that point, Bridgette was getting really annoyed with her little sister. "Gundams are the guys in the big white robots with all the primary colors!"

"Oh!" The realization on Marie's face is almost comical, but Bridgette was in no mood to humor her sister with a "good job." Not when she kept making her miss all the fight scenes.


	21. The Wrap up

**Title: The Wrap up**

**Summary:**  Eight sentence-styled stories surrounding the Dubois' day-to-day lives.

**Prompts:**  21 - 30

**Author: Sakura123**  (weber_dubois22)

**Rating:**   **K+**

**Characters:**  Ariel; Bridgette; Marie; Joe; Michael; Allison

**Chapters:**  28/28

**Word Count:**  261

**Written: 11/24/2010**

**Completed: 11/24/2010**

**Disclaimer** :  _Medium_  and all things related are property of Glenn Gordon Caron, CBS Paramount Television, Picturemaker Productions, and Grammnet Productions. Original storyline and characters are property of me, the author.

**Authors Note:**  Welcome to the end of "Goodnight and Go". Honestly, this is not how I wanted to end this story, but I really don't have the inspiration nor the stamina to continue on writing these short stories like I've been doing since last year. And with  _Medium_  coming to an actual end (it's been officially cancelled by CBS with only 13 episodes in it's roster for Season Seven), I suspect this section of the universe will be become a hellva lot more vacant than it already is. The style of writing is lifted from the popular "1character" or "1sentence" challenge communities that can be found livejournal. Prompt 30 serves as no. 28 as I did prompt 28 separately in the story,  _"Memory (Blue States)"._

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**21 - Draw:**  Ariel, Bridgette and Marie attempt to draw a diagram of the human body, without much success; Marie colors all the organs the wrong color, Bridgette frequently forgets where what belongs and Ariel is trying not to strangle either of them.

**22 - Title of a TV Show:**  Joe watches  _Journeyman_  with great enthusiasm when no one is around and frequently wishes he could time travel sporadically to the past like Dan Vasser.

**23 - A Profession:**  Michael Benoit was looking to put his skills to good use, why not work for a physic hotline - it worked for Miss Cleo.

**24 - Doll:**  When Marie meet Mr. Snookie, it was love at first sight; he did everything, went everywhere with her, even into the bathtub.

**25 - Slide:**  As their junior year ends, Allison struggles to come to terms with Izzy's growing distance after the death of Stephen Campbell; she wishes she hadn't said anything about their non-existent relationship in the future.

**26 - New Beginnings:**  Joe is trying not to cry as his mom and sisters see him off at the airport; He reminds himself that going to collage in Phoenix, Arizona was a big opportunity, well worth the price of leaving behind his family - still, he'll miss them like hell.

**27 - An Academy Award-Winning Film:**  Ariel adores  _The Sound of Music_ ; she'll play the soundtrack every hour of everyday, much to her parent's dismay.

**30 - Alarm Clock:**  Allison is Joe's alarm clock, he's totally forgotten about the digital clock sitting on her beside table.

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**END.**


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